


Stolen Memories

by Calacious



Series: I'm Keeping the Kid [2]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Danny, Kidnapper Steve, Magic of sorts, Violence, time stamps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2018-05-12 17:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 45,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5675089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time-stamps, or one-shots that jump around in time, for the universe I created in, "I'm Keeping the Kid".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Snow in Hawaii

**Author's Note:**

> First story: Danny's first Christmas with Steve. (angst, fluff)
> 
>  _Disclaimer:_ I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, and am making no profit, monetary, or otherwise, thought the writing of this.
> 
>  _A/N:_ These are disconnected one-shots (time-stamps...kind of) for the universe created in the short story, "I'm Keeping the Kid". I do not condone kidnapping, and do not condone violence toward children. Steve isn't going to purposefully hurt Danny in this. He is not a good guy, but he's not evil either. He's a bad guy who had a change of heart, which does happen.
> 
>  _A/N:_ There is some Christmas magic at work in this. This isn't on time for Christmas, because I wasn't happy with the initial version. I've decided to stop tweaking it now, and stop worrying about if everyone is going to hate it. If it's hated, I will simply delete it.

It's sunny, hot, and there's sand and palm trees everywhere that Danny looks. The ocean's so big that sometimes Danny feels like he's going to be swallowed up by it.

It's supposed to be winter, but there's no snow, and Danny secretly fears that maybe there _won't_ be any snow, which is very worrisome, because how can there be Christmas without any snow?

Then he thinks that maybe Christmas _won't_ come for him this year anyway, because of what happened to his family. They died in a fire while he was safe with Uncle Steve. He feels bad about it.

He can't really remember those days very well. They're murky and scary, and Uncle Steve hadn't seemed very nice (like he sometimes is now) at all.

Danny mostly remembers being cold and hungry, and always being too tired to do anything. He remembers being thirsty, too.

Uncle Steve says that he was sick, and that's why Danny can't remember everything so well, but there are things that Danny _does_ remember. Things that make him think that maybe it was Uncle Steve who made him sick in the first place.

His insides squirm like earthworms when he thinks like that, though, and when he remembers some of what happened to him; like Uncle Steve hitting him, being told about his family's death, waking up in a strange place and being told that he now lives with Uncle Steve. That Danny belongs to the man now.

There's something about the wording of that which makes Danny's skin crawl. He's a person, and people don't belong to other people, like dogs or cats, or Christmas presents do.

Danny doesn't remember having an Uncle Steve before all of this. He remembers an Uncle Jim and Pete, and all of his daddy's friends at the firehouse that he'd called uncle.

Uncle Jim had a bushy mustache that tickled Danny's cheek whenever they hugged; and Uncle Pete's head was smooth and shiny like a bowling ball, but Danny knew better than to tell him that.

Danny wonders if he could've maybe lived with them after his parents died, but he doesn't ask Uncle Steve about it.

"Uncle Steve," Danny says, keeping his voice quiet, because it looks like the man is working on something important, and he doesn't want to get in the way, or make Uncle Steve angry. He's standing on the other side of an invisible line that separates Uncle Steve's office from the living room, not wanting to get into any trouble. Uncle Steve's office is strictly 'off limits'.

Uncle Steve doesn't hit Danny or anything, but sometimes he gets this look on his face that scares Danny, and makes him want to hide. Danny thinks of it as Uncle Steve's 'kill-the-spare' face, from the _Harry Potter_ books that Auntie Deb reads to him whenever she takes care of him when Uncle Steve is busy, but he knows better than to say anything to Uncle Steve about it. After all, Uncle Steve hadn't taken Danny's 'constipation face' comment well at all, though Auntie Kono had laughed, and Uncle Chin had smiled and agreed with him.

"What is it, Danny?" Steve asks without looking up.

He's pressing the tips of his fingers to his forehead, staring at something on the screen of his phone, and he's thumbing through what look like a bunch of pictures. Danny can't make out what's on the pictures, but he thinks he sees blood, and that makes his stomach twist.

Sighing, Danny bites his lip. "When is it going to snow?" Danny asks, voice quiet. He stands just inside the door to Uncle Steve's 'office' and waits patiently for an answer. It's hard to stand so still, but Danny knows Steve won't be happy if he 'wiggles around' too much.

Uncle Steve continues to scroll through the pictures on his phone, writing something on a yellow piece of paper every once in awhile, and Danny thinks that maybe the man hasn't heard him, but then the man pauses, and, without looking at Danny, says, dismissively, "It doesn't snow in Hawaii, Danny."

When Danny sighs heavily, Uncle Steve looks up at him, his blue eyes hard and cold, sparking a memory of a dark room and Uncle Steve looming over him. Tears fill Danny's eyes, but he clenches his hands into fists and swallows down the fear and the pain of the memory, refusing to cry, because crying's for babies, and Danny is not a baby. He's a big boy. He takes a step back, crossing the invisible line he'd accidentally crossed earlier.

"Look, kid, can't you see that I'm busy?" Uncle Steve asks, and he's definitely wearing the 'kill the spare' face. Danny sucks in a breath and nods, because he can't find his voice, and he doesn't want Uncle Steve to lock him up in a cold, dark room again.

"This is important, Danny." Uncle Steve's voice is a little softer, and his eyes a little less hard, but his face is still a little scary, and Danny misses his dad, because, even when his dad was busy with something important, he had time to answer Danny's questions, and he'd have called Danny over to him by now, pulled him up onto his lap, and let him see what he was working on, and given him a hug, or stopped whatever it was he was doing and played with Danny. Uncle Steve doesn't play with him.

"Why don't you go play outside, or something?" Uncle Steve's eyes turn away from Danny, and his question trails off at the end, like he's forgotten Danny, even though he's still standing right there.

The pictures fly by, one after another, under Steve's thumb. One of them definitely has blood on it, and Danny turns and runs out of the house, not stopping until he's at the edge of the ocean, waves lapping at his bare feet, tears making his vision blurry. His chest aches, and he wants his mom and dad. He doesn't want to live in Hawaii anymore. Doesn't want to live with an Uncle Steve that he doesn't remember.

Danny wants snow and city streets; houses close enough to touch each other; his baby brother, Matty; puddles of muddy slush to stomp through; cold that seeps into his bones and disappears with a cup of hot chocolate and melted marshmallows...Danny wants home.

Instead, he's got the ocean tugging at him like his Aunt Marcy's dog, Dutch, had tugged at his pants leg that one time when he was really little; palm trees swaying overhead in a gentle breeze; and an uncle who wants nothing to do with him.

And then there's no snow, and no Christmas, and pineapple on pizza, and Danny just wants to go home, no matter what Uncle Steve has told him about where he belongs now, because maybe Uncle Steve really isn't his uncle after all, and maybe he's just been lying to Danny all along. Not everything adds up in Danny's memories of the man, and of the time when he was so sick that he could hardly keep his eyes open.

Everything is confusing, and Danny's tired and homesick, and he misses his mom's hugs the most of all - the way she pulls him close until he can feel her heartbeat, wraps her arms around him, and hums until he feels better.

Danny sits in the shallow water and pulls his knees up to his chest. Ignoring the cold water that pulls at him, he buries his face in his knees and finally lets go of the tears he's been holding onto for a very long time now and cries.

He's tried to be brave and strong. He's tried not to be afraid, but he's all alone now, in spite of what Uncle Steve said to him when he woke up in Hawaii, and he _is_ afraid. Afraid of Uncle Steve. Afraid of the ocean. Afraid that it's his fault that his family is dead, because if it wasn't, then why is he still alive when they aren't? And why won't it snow in Hawaii when it's winter?

He's so afraid and sad that his chest and stomach ache, and Danny can't even breathe anymore because it hurts. It feels like his chest is on fire, and Danny clutches his knees even tighter, feels the water crawling up his legs as dark spots dance behind his closed eyelids, and he struggles to breathe.

He wants his mommy, but knows that she won't come for him. She can't come for him. Uncle Steve had explained, very clearly, how death worked, and how people can't come back from it, even if they really want to. How it's permanent, but not like the marker that Danny had accidentally got on his favorite tee-shirt that one time when he was only five. It had come out in the wash, but Danny's mom won't come back from the dark place she's gone to underneath the ground. Ever. Danny's stuck with Uncle Steve, and the burning hole in his chest that makes it feel like everything's on fire whenever he tries to breathe.

The unexpected heaviness of a hand on his shoulder makes Danny's heart race a little harder than it's already racing, but he's frozen in place, unable to move as fearful memories flood his mind.

Darkness, and pain, and he can't move his arms.

Uncle Steve's face hovering over his own, lips pursed together in a stern, thin line. Mouth moving in words that Danny can't make out.

Memories of a fire that he'd never seen, the charred remains of his parents, blackened beyond recognition, the small body of his baby brother.

His imagination's playing tricks on him, making him remember things that he's never even seen; but he can smell the fire, feel it burning his lungs, and he wants it to take him away to where his mom and dad and Matty are. He wants to feel his mother's arms around him, rocking him to sleep in a way that the ocean's waves never can; in a way that he doesn't think his Uncle Steve ever will.

"Hey, Danny," Uncle Steve's voice is soft, guilty, and, even though Danny doesn't know if he can trust the man, he turns and buries his face against Uncle Steve's chest, listens to the steady beat of the man's heart, and doesn't fight when he's lifted and cradled in strong arms, carried back to the house he'd fled earlier. His tears are gone now, taken away by the ocean; face wiped dry by the front of his Uncle Steve's tee-shirt.

"I'm sorry," Uncle Steve says.

They're sitting on the couch, and Uncle Steve is rubbing Danny's back, like Danny's mom used to do when he couldn't fall asleep at night, or when he was really upset about something, like he is now.

"I wanna go home," Danny says through a hiccup.

He's clutching a fistful of Uncle Steve's black shirt in one hand, the other's wedged between Steve's back and the couch. He's comfortable, and warm, and his eyes don't want to open. Even though it's not bedtime yet, he's exhausted.

"You know I can't take you home, Danny," Uncle Steve says, sighing.

Danny knows, even without looking, that Uncle Steve's got his 'constipation face' on, and he smiles, because that's the face that means that Uncle Steve cares, even if it's only just a little bit. The face that means that Danny's not just an obligation, like he'd accidentally overheard the man say on the phone to someone named Catherine (he was supposed to be in bed, but needed a glass of water) - _I have an obligation to take care of him_ , he'd said, and Danny had felt cold on the inside, like a whole bucket of ice water had been dumped into him.

Danny nods, loosens his grip on Steve's shirt, and worries the soft fabric between his fingers. He misses his blanket, though he's too old for it; tries not to think of it burning up in the fire, because then he thinks of his baby brother and the ache in his chest makes the tears want to start up again.

"If I could take you home, I would," Uncle Steve says, his hand calm and soothing on Danny's back. "If I could turn back time..."

Danny sniffs, and Uncle Steve's grip on him tightens. It's nothing like his mother's or father's hugs, not really a hug at all, because it's so loose, but it's nice, and it's the first time that Uncle Steve has held him. The first time the man has made Danny feel safe, and like maybe, even if it doesn't snow in Hawaii, everything is going to be alright. Like maybe Christmases can exist even without snow.

"If it doesn't snow in Hawaii, then does that mean there isn't any Christmas?" Danny asks, voice quiet, words muffled by Uncle Steve's shirt.

The man stiffens, and Danny worries that he's asked something wrong, and he tightens his hold on Uncle Steve's shirt. Maybe it was wrong to think about Christmas.

Danny doesn't want presents, though; the only thing he wants is his mom and dad, and his brother, Matty, and he thinks that, if anyone could give him that, it's Santa. Santa can do anything. Danny's mom had told him that. And about the miracles of Christmas. Surely giving Danny back his family from the dead wouldn't be too hard for the man in the big red suit to do, no matter what Uncle Steve says about death being forever.

"There'll be Christmas," Uncle Steve says, and he continues to rub Danny's back. "We just don't have snow in Hawaii, but we have Christmas."

"Oh," Danny says, squirming his way free from Steve's lap, and running up the stairs to his bedroom.

His room had belonged to an Aunt Mary that Danny doesn't remember from before either. Uncle Steve's sister. He's never met her, and the room was all pink and girly before Danny had moved into it. Uncle Steve had let him choose what color paint he'd wanted for the room - blue of course. Auntie Kono had gotten him glow in the dark stars for the walls and ceiling. He even has a race car bed, but none of that's important now.

Now that Danny knows there will be Christmas in Hawaii, even though there won't be snow, Danny just knows that he'll get his Christmas wish. He just has to convince Uncle Steve to mail his letter to Santa, and wait until Christmas morning.

Danny's so excited that he accidentally crumples his letter to Santa, and he has to smooth it out when he hands it over to Uncle Steve, who is giving it a strange look. "It's my letter to Santa," Danny explains. Maybe Uncle Steve has never written a letter to Santa before, and that's why he's turning it over and over in his hands as though he's never seen such a thing before.

"Can you mail it for me?" Danny asks. His tears and worry from earlier are forgotten in his excitement.

Uncle Steve gives Danny a strange look, but he nods, and then he smooths the still slightly crumpled letter over his knee, taking out some of the crinkles. "Sure," he says, and he stiffens when Danny throws his arms around his neck in a hug, and places a kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, Uncle Steve," Danny says. "I'll go outside and play now. So you can go back to work. I'll be really quiet. Promise." Danny runs off before Uncle Steve can say or do anything in response.

"Danny -" Uncle Steve's words are cut off by the slam of the door.

* * *

Steve seeks out his Aunt Deb's advice when it comes to setting up Christmas for Danny. He has no idea what to do. His childhood memories are vague, and he'd never thought about having kids of his own. Had never really celebrated Christmas as an adult, though he'd sent out cards to his relatives, and bought Catherine some of the perfume that she liked (in the years when they were actively dating).

The consultation leads to shopping for Christmas decorations, and a tree, and then Christmas decorating parties at his house with the whole team, and Aunt Deb. Then there's Christmas cookie baking. Thankfully Kono takes over that portion of the holiday preparations, and though Steve's kitchen's a complete wreck afterwards, Danny's happy, and Steve learns that he rather enjoys seeing Danny smile, and hearing him giggle.

Present shopping is hard, though, because Steve has no idea what a six year old wants for Christmas. Danny doesn't really say much to him, or anyone about it, and, though he wishes he didn't know why, he does, because he's read Danny's letter to Santa.

It was the first thing he did, after Danny had slammed out of the door, leaving Steve with a tingling cheek and feeling like a complete heel for making Danny think that he's got to be quiet all of the time.

He's not sure what to make of the letter, at first. Thinks that Danny needs to work on his penmanship and spelling, but then it hits him like a fist to the gut, and he has to close his eyes and take several deep breaths when he works out what Danny wants Santa to bring him for Christmas.

It's impossible, and Steve had thought that he'd already explained all of that to Danny, but clearly the boy still doesn't have a handle on the concept of death, and Steve will have to sit him down and explain it to him, again. The problem is, he's not sure how to make it any clearer than he already had. He's already spelled it all out for the little boy. Dead means that the person is gone, forever. They can't call or write. And they can't be seen again, because they no longer have a body, or life, and they aren't ghosts (Danny had asked about that). They are just gone.

It comes to him, much later, and two days before Christmas, what he _can_ do for Danny. Or rather, what Santa can do for the little boy, with Chin's help, and maybe the help of their consultant, Toast, if it comes to that. It'll be a little pricey, but money's not an object when it comes to this.

It's as he's sipping a beer, squinting at the directions - which appear to be in Korean or Chinese; he can't find directions in English - for assembling the mini scooter that had just arrived in the mail earlier that day, that the idea comes to him, and he abandons the instructions, and his work, in lieu of contacting Chin, who in turn promises to contact Toast if he needs the computer genius' help to do what Steve's requested.

There's no promise of success from his teammate, though there is a thoughtful pause, and a heartfelt, "I'll see what I can do."

The letter to Santa feels like it's burning a hole in Steve's pocket. He's kept it on his person ever since Danny gave it to him to mail, unsure what to do with it now that he's read it. He has no idea what the proper protocol is, and is fearful of contacting his aunt, again, certain that she'll sigh, and make him feel like a little kid, and use the tone of voice that makes Steve feel small, and vulnerable, because she thinks that Danny's his kid, and that he was robbed of the chance to raise him by a vengeful ex-girlfriend who recently died.

It was a necessary lie, because Steve had needed someone to watch Danny when he had to leave for work. He hated that it made him look like the wronged party, and that it made his aunt feel sorry for him, but it wasn't like he could tell her the truth.

The night before Christmas, after he's finally gotten Danny into bed - the extra helping of sugar cookies and two candy canes that Kono had given him hadn't helped any - Steve forgoes the instructions and figures out how to assemble the scooter, and the rest of Danny's toys on his own, just as two AM approaches.

He makes a point of taking a single bite out of the gingerbread cookie (he goes for a leg) that's been left for Santa, and takes a sip of the milk (he hates milk), and then pulls out two Christmas stockings, one for Danny, and at his aunt's insistence, one for himself. He places them on the banister, where they'll be the first things that Danny will see when he comes down the stairs in the morning, which, if he's got Danny's internal clock down, will be around six in the morning, regardless of how late he's stayed up the night before, or how hyped up on cookies and candy he is.

Yawning, Steve takes one last look at the Christmas tree, and the mound of presents that's buried beneath it. The ones from Santa are prominent in the foreground, and are adorned with nothing more than a simple red bow, and a sticker that reads, "To: Danny From: Santa," and one that reads, "To: Steve From: Santa".

Danny's letter to Santa weighs heavily on his mind - Chin and Toast haven't pulled through for him - but he places it on the dresser, like he's done every night since Danny'd given it to him, and trusted him to get it to Santa, and goes to sleep, his mind filled with visions of a disappointed Danny refusing to even look at the gifts that Steve had gotten him. Danny crying and inconsolable in his grief.

He tosses and turns, and is out of bed the second that he hears the floor creak in Danny's room, and is down the stairs, turning on the Christmas lights and putting on coffee for himself, and getting hot cocoa ready for Danny, before the boy starts down the stairs.

"Uncle Steve, Santa was here." Danny's voice is filled with awe, and the boy has both Christmas stockings in his arms when he walks into the kitchen.

He hands one to Steve, and then, rubbing at his eyes, sits at the kitchen table and places his own stocking on it. Steve hands him the cocoa and takes a sip of his coffee, stifles a laugh at the way that Danny sips at his cocoa, as though he's nursing a cup of coffee. The little boy rubs his eyes again, and hides a yawn behind his hand.

"What did Santa put in your stocking, buddy?" Steve asks, and Danny peers at him over the bulk of the stocking, fingering it gingerly.

Unsure of what to do, because Steve's almost certain that most children would have already dug into their Christmas stockings by now, sprawling the contents out over the floor, or, in their case, over the kitchen table, he takes the lead and does just that. Candy rolls over the table, one piece landing right in front of Danny who gives him a slow smile, and then dumps his own stocking out on the kitchen table.

Danny examines each piece of candy, and each gift that was left in his stocking with far greater attention than Steve believes is warranted, and he has to refresh his cup of coffee and Danny's hot cocoa before the boy is ready to move into the living room, after he's stuffed every last piece of candy back into the stocking, choosing a green and white striped candy cane for the treat that he can have before breakfast, which they'll eat after opening their Christmas presents. Danny's eyes light up when he sees the mini scooter, and Steve helps him try it out, cautioning him to only use it when he, or another adult is present.

Danny is thankful for each of his gifts, but it's clear that, as the morning wanes on, and the one gift that he'd asked Santa for isn't going to materialize, that he's disappointed, and it does funny things to Steve's heart, as does the homemade present that Danny gives to him. Clearly it's something that Deb had helped Danny craft.

It's a hand drawn picture of 'Unco Steve' and Danny, standing side-by-side, in front of a lopsided house. The picture is framed by a popsicle stick picture frame, and if Steve's eyes are correct in their judgement of the slight coloring to the sticks, it's comprised entirely of sticks from grape popsicles (Danny's favorite).

The not-quite stick figures, colored outside of the lines; the big smile on the figure labeled 'Danny'; the way the 'Danny' figure is holding the 'Unco Steve' figure's hand; and the not-smile that's on the figure labeled 'Unco Steve', makes Steve's heart do a weird kind of flip-flop in his chest, and he's not sure how to speak around the lump that's formed in his throat when Danny's mouth starts to waver in uncertainty, and his hands fall to his sides, and his gaze drops to the floor.

"Thank you," he settles on, kneeling in front of the little boy, and pulling him into a brief hug, like he thinks he remembers his father doing from time to time when he was around Danny's age, maybe younger.

"It's perfect, Danny," Steve says, his words muffled by Danny's curly blond hair.

"Are you going to put it up in your office?" Danny asks, peering at him through the fringe of his eyelashes.

Steve grins and nods, clutches the artwork to his chest, and stands to deposit it in a prominent place on the desk in his office. Danny watches from the living room, giving him a lopsided smile that Steve thinks is approval.

They've got a half an hour to tidy the house before Deb, and Steve's team is scheduled to arrive for breakfast and to exchange more presents. Danny has made something for Chin, Kono and Deb, and Steve tries to tamp down on the spike of jealousy that he feels when he notes that the packages are shaped similar to the one that he'd gotten from Danny. He knows he's being ridiculous, that there's not much else a six year old can make for Christmas gifts, but it isn't until the gifts are opened, revealing homemade ornaments for Kono and Deb, and a picture frame with no picture for Chin, that Steve lets out a relieved breath.

At the end of the day, after toys are played with and way too much food has been eaten, and everyone has long since left for the day, Steve carries Danny to bed, tucking him in and placing a kiss to his forehead, smiling at the way that Danny rolls toward him, clutching the dolphin that Kono had given him (along with a beginning surfboard, and a promise of lessons) for Christmas. Danny's smiling in his sleep, and Steve brushes hair off of the little boy's forehead. It's only been a few months since Steve made that split second decision to keep Danny, but it feels like years have passed, and his heart swells with what he thinks might be love.

The little boy had fallen asleep in the middle of dinner, only avoiding faceplanting in his food because Steve had been quick enough to prevent it from happening. Steve had washed Danny's face off with a washcloth, and the boy hadn't as much as stirred when he'd done it.

It had been a long, but fulfilling day. Steve can't remember another like it. He can't remember enjoying a Christmas as much as he'd enjoyed this one, and knows that it's because of the little boy curled up beneath the covers that he'd tucked up beneath Danny's chin.

There's a lightness to his step as Steve turns to leave Danny's room, making sure that the nightlight is on, and that Danny's door is left a few inches ajar, just the way the little boy likes it.

It's as he's pulling the door carefully into place, using three fingers to measure the requisite space, that he catches sight of something that he hadn't noticed when entering Danny's bedroom. It's a thick, red and white striped envelope that looks full to bursting. It's addressed to Daniel William-Matthew McGarrett (the name that Steve had given Danny and made 'legal' through illegal means and a lot of money paid to certain people in key places), and, according to the return address, it's from Saint Nicholas XXXII, North Pole.

Breath catching in his throat, eyes going over to Danny, and then back to the envelope when Steve realizes that the boy is still soundly asleep, Steve reaches for the envelope, and weighs it in his hands. If Chin had managed to come through for him, the 'gift' Steve had requested of him would weigh about this much, but the man had said nothing, had given Danny a set of books about a mouse detective and a couple of computer games for Christmas, and a promise to come play some of the games with Danny. It didn't make sense for Chin to leave the gift here, on Danny's dresser, for the boy to open _after_ Christmas morning.

Curious, Steve turns the thick envelope over in his hand, and is surprised to see that it's sealed. As much as he wants to open the gift, and find out what's inside of it, Steve places it back on the dresser, and reluctantly goes downstairs to finish cleaning up before falling into bed two hours later.

He's awakened a few short, yet restful, hours later when, Danny, squealing, bounds into his room and launches himself onto Steve's bed, jumping up and down and making Steve reach for his gun before he realizes he's not under attack, and that Danny's shouting isn't because he's terrified, but because he's excited.

When Steve's heart is back where it belongs, and he's able to breathe comfortably, and Danny's settled down beside him, practically plastering himself to Steve's side like a leech, Steve rubs a hand over his face, and turns toward the whirlwind of a boy. He opens his mouth, and closes it, words failing him, because what on earth just happened, and why is Danny staring at him with those wide, blue eyes twinkling? He reminds Steve of a puppy, and Steve hopes to god that someone has not dropped a puppy off at their front door this early in the morning. He wouldn't put it past one of his team members, or his aunt.

"Lookit, Uncle Steve," Danny says, and he shoves the red and white striped envelope under Steve's nose. "It's from Santa."

He's holding it out to Steve, and Steve has no idea what it is that Danny wants him to do, because the gift belongs to the boy, not to him, and it's too early to deal with a hyper kid before he's had his morning swim and coffee. "I see," Steve settles on. His eyes lose focus, because Danny's pressed the gift so close to him that he's gone crosseyed.

"Can I open it?" Danny asks.

Blinking, and stifling a yawn, Steve nods. "It's for you, isn't it?"

Danny smiles and nods. Pressing even further into Steve's side, Danny's elbow digs into his ribs, and Steve shifts a little to ease the pressure. Danny follows him, though he's no longer poking Steve in the side with his extra sharp elbow, and Steve finds a small measure of comfort in that.

Danny carefully opens the envelope and pulls out what looks like a handwritten letter. He peers closely at it, and then hands it to Steve, and moves to sit on his knees beside him. The boy reminds Steve of a mini tornado, constantly on the move, and having Danny in his bed is a bit like having his own personal natural disaster in his room. It's disconcerting, and mildly alarming, and Danny's staring at him, shoving the letter at him.

"I can't read this," he says. "What did Santa say? Can you read it for me? I can't read the curly letters. Can you read it for me, Uncle Steve?"

Steve's ears feel like they're ringing, and his eyes cross, because Danny's shoved the paper right up against his nose. He pulls back, and snatches the letter from Danny's hand before the boy can shove it even closer to his face, or up his nose.

He reads the letter to himself, twice, frowning. Danny gives him an expectant, and impatient look, body wriggling as he struggles to wait for Steve to read the letter aloud. Take a deep breath, and then clearing his throat, Steve reads the letter once more to himself, before, finally reading it aloud to Danny.

"Dear Daniel, Thank you for your letter. I am sorry about your family. While I wish I could bring your family back to you for Christmas, it is beyond my ability to do so. Christmas magic is capable of a lot of things, but traversing the grave is not one of them, though I wish it was so. There are a great deal many other children who would be happy to have a parent, grandparent, or a sibling, returned to them this time of year.

I know that you loved your family very much, and they loved you very much, too. Though these photographs are not the same thing, I hope that they will bring you much joy, and be reminders of past happinesses to help you build new memories with your Uncle Steve. He's going to need a lot of patience, and love, and I know that you've got a big heart for such a little boy. You've done your family proud, and I know that you will continue to do so.

Yours Sincerely, Saint Nicholas"

Steve's throat is thick, and he has to cough to clear it, and blink his eyes, again, because something's in them. Danny's tipping the contents of the envelope out onto Steve's lap. It's a photo album filled with photographs of Danny's family, which is what Steve had asked Chin to find for him.

There's another letter that flutters out in the wake of the photo album, and it's addressed to Steve. The message is simple, and Steve doesn't share the contents of it with Danny, who's supplanted the photo album on Steve's lap, and is now going through it, pointing out different memories to Steve, and pushing the photo album in his face as he takes Steve back in time to when he was 'just a baby' or 'three years old' or 'only five'.

By the time Danny's showed Steve every last picture and told him elaborate stories for each, some of which have made him laugh, Danny's voice is hoarse and the little boy is sagging against Steve's chest, yawning widely. Before Steve fully understands what's happening, Danny's got one arm snaked around his waist, the other clutching the photo album to his chest, and he's sprawled out on top of Steve, _snuggling_ , head resting against Steve's chest, breath evening out into sleep.

Steve's eyes are heavy, and he rests a hand on Danny's back, cracks a yawn, and then decides that trying to move Danny without disturbing the little boy would be way too much work, so he settles back, gets comfortable, and falls into a light sleep, giving only a passing thought to the odd letters that had accompanied the 'Family' photo album from Saint Nicholas.

He hadn't recognized the script on either letter, and they'd clearly been handwritten. Danny's letter could have been penned by Chin, or maybe even by Kono, but the letter to Steve...that was a mystery as it had cited things that none of his team members were aware of, or should have been aware of - that one time he and his family had wintered in Colorado and he'd broken his collarbone on a jump, being just one such memory that he hadn't shared with anyone - and mentioned things that were to come. Some of them daunting, and others too hard for Steve to imagine, some too good to be true.

These thoughts bouncing around in his head, Steve falls into a deeper sleep, Danny sprawled out on top of him like one of those electric blankets (cranked to the highest setting). The weight of the boy, and his furnace-like heat are not wholly uncomfortable, just different than anything Steve has experienced before, and he finds himself liking it, and, though it's too good to be true, because he's not a good guy, and he doesn't deserve something like this, it almost feels like he's a father, and that, maybe, someday, he can be something like a father to Danny, as the letter from 'Saint Nicholas' suggested he could.

In any case, Steve knows that, just like the memories someone - Chin, Toast, or Saint Nicholas - recovered for Danny, he's been given a chance to make new memories with the boy. Whether by Fate, or chance, or simply by his own greed, doesn't matter. Not in the long run. All that matters is that he be careful with the memories that he makes, and that he makes them good, and strong.

 


	2. Easter Pancakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has no clue what Easter is all about, can he learn in time for Danny?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have another chapter that I've written for this and not yet posted, because I kept thinking that I'd write another chapter before posting...but then work, and sickness, and traveling, etc, have gotten in the way of writing. Inspiration came to me yesterday, and this happened. It's cheesy, and imperfect. Thank you, Swifters for reading this ahead of time, and for pointing out some things. I hope that no one is offended by Steve's religious thoughts; he's a criminal.

Steve frowns at the towheaded boy standing at the foot of his bed, an expectant look on his face that quickly turns into disappointment. Something that's too common to Steve's way of thinking.

He hates being the object of disappointment, and lately it seems that he's always putting that look on Danny's - the boy he illegally-legally adopted through underground channels - face.

"Danny?" Steve forces himself fully awake.

It's just after six in the morning. Way too early for Danny to be awake as the boy usually doesn't get up until around seven most mornings, and much too early for him to be awake after the late night he'd had talking logistics on their next job with his team. A job that will be taking place in less than forty-eight hours.

"It's Easter," Danny says, like that explains everything.

Steve's frown deepens as he casts around in his mind for everything that he knows about Easter. His family never celebrated, though he thinks he remembers a time when he was maybe three or four when his Aunt Deb did something for him that was Easter related. His memories of that time are fuzzy, though. He thinks that it's a religious holiday. Something about three days and a rock and singing angels, but something's not adding up with the images his mind is conjuring. Danny wouldn't be in his room before the crack of dawn, staring at him with ill-concealed disappointment if he had woken anticipating some kind of religious ceremony. Would he?

"We're 'posed to go to church, an' dye eggs, and the Easter Bunny's 'posed to come an' leave a basket and candy," Danny explains, talking to Steve like he's two. Danny sighs, and shakes his head, and, shoulders bent, he starts walking toward the door that he'd banged open minutes earlier.

"Wait! Danny!" Steve calls after the little boy, hating the dejected hunch of his shoulders, and that he's been a disappointment, yet again, to the little boy.

_Kidnapping should come with a manual, S_ teve thinks, and he groans as he slips out of bed to follow after the boy that he's come to love in the short time that he's had him.

"Danny?" Steve finds the little boy sitting in the middle of his playroom, and now that he really looks at him, Steve realizes that Danny is indeed dressed in his best clothes, ready, no doubt, to go to church. Steve doubts that he can enter a church without getting struck down by lightning after all of the bad things that he's done, but he doesn't want to dishearten Danny anymore than he already has.

"It's okay, Uncle Steve," Danny says in a voice that implies quite the opposite. He's clutching the Superman action figure that Kono had given him in one hand, and Batman in the other, but he's not playing with either of them, and Steve is at a loss for what to say or do. He doesn't even know where a church is, let alone what he needs to do to enter one. Are there certain clothes he has to wear? Does he need to complete some kind of ritual prior to entering the building? Does he have to belong to a church to attend one?

"Hey, Danny, I..." _have no idea what the fuck I'm doing, and I'm probably screwing you up for life_. "I'm sorry. I forgot that it was Easter. How about if we make pancakes for breakfast?"

Steve might not know a lot about raising kids - he knows nothing - but he knows a lot about Danny, even though he's only known the little boy for a few months, and he knows that if anything can get Danny out of a funk, it's usually pancakes. Pancakes or his Auntie Deb.

Danny shrugs, but nods, and Batman flies through the air with a silent whoosh, before landing at Steve's feet, on the rug that Deb had insisted Steve get for Danny's playroom. The playroom itself had been an Aunt Deb thing as well. Steve's clueless when it comes to kids, and he thinks there should be a manual about that as well.

"Easter pancakes?" Danny asks quietly, tilting his head to look up at Steve through curly bangs.

_The kid needs a haircut_ , Steve thinks, but then again he likes the wild curls, and the mop of hair, and a haircut might mess all of that up.

Steve nods. "Sure, Easter pancakes." His insides twist with worry, and he wonders if he can do a quick google search before Danny realizes that he has no idea what an Easter pancake is.

"With chocolate chips?" Danny gives him a shy look, lips quirking slightly, and Steve feels like he's been punched in the gut.

"Sure, anything you want, buddy," Steve says, and instantly regrets it, because he knows the look that Danny's giving him now - all big eyed innocence mixed with just a touch of conniving.

Though this is the first time that Danny's used this particular look on him, his sister, Mary had used it often, and had gotten away with murder when they'd been younger. Figuratively, of course, though Steve wouldn't have put it past her to get away with the actual gruesome act itself.

Danny smiles then, and Steve knows that, though the boy really had been upset earlier, because Steve had been clueless about the Williams' family Easter rituals, and about Easter in general, Danny's now moved onto milking Steve's lack of understanding for all that he's worth. He's going to make a killing, and Steve's going to let him get away with it, because he really does feel bad, and it's his fault that Danny isn't with his family right now, heading off to church and dying eggs, and finding chocolate filled baskets left by mythical bunnies.

"Can we put sugar sprinkles on them?" Danny asks, and he's got a calculating look in his eyes as he sends Superman flying through the air.

Steve knows that Danny is testing him now. Seeing how far he can push his luck. This is important, and Steve doesn't want to mess it up, but he knows that he's going to. It's inevitable.

He was never meant to be a father, and he should never have tried with Danny. If he could take it all back, return Danny to his family, never have taken the little boy in the first place, he would. He can't, though, and Danny's looking at him as though Steve holds all of the answers to all of the questions in the universe, and it's just sprinkles on chocolate chip pancakes on Easter morning, and Steve doesn't know what to say; how's he going to answer the bigger questions that Danny throws his way? Sprinkles on pancakes are okay, right?

"Uh, sure," Steve says. "Sugar sprinkles on chocolate chip pancakes in the shape of the Easter Bunny?"

Danny snorts, and giggles, and Superman flounders in the air. Steve doesn't understand how what he's said is funny, but he smiles, and, settling down on the rug across from Danny, knees touching, he picks up Batman, because he has no idea what else he's supposed to do, and he's still in his pajama bottoms while Danny's dressed in a pair of dark slacks, a button down shirt, and a rumpled tie that's on crooked, and has three too many knots, and is much too long to belong to a little boy. Steve thinks it might even be one of his ties, and he wonders just how long Danny had been in his bedroom, and why he hadn't woken up earlier; surely the little boy isn't that light of foot.

"And jelly beans for eyes," Danny adds, once his giggles have died down, and Superman is now flying level with Batman. "And a nose."

"Jelly beans?" Steve says, skeptical. He doesn't have jelly beans, and wonders where he can get them at this hour of the morning. Chocolate chip, sugar sprinkle, jelly bean pancakes do not sound the least bit nutritious. Nor does any of it sound appealing.

Danny shrugs, and gives Steve another shy smile. "They're Easter pancakes," he says, and Steve knows that he's being bamboozled, but he plays along, because he wants to see just how far the little boy is willing to take this.

"Okay," Steve says, and he flies Batman low to the floor. "Jelly beans. How about scrambled eggs?" He has to give the little boy something healthy for breakfast, too, right? Something that isn't going to rot his teeth, or his stomach.

Danny scrunches his nose up as he considers Steve's offer, and Superman flies right above Batman before swooping down, and almost, but not quite, tackling the other action figure. "With cheesy 'tatoes?"

Steve sighs in relief, and says, "Sure," half afraid that Danny was going to suggest adding something crazy,like m&ms, to the eggs. Cheesy potatoes are kind of healthy, and the eggs may help to offset some of the sugary sweetness of the Easter pancakes that Steve is sure Danny's making up on the spot. If he can get the little boy to eat the eggs, that is.

"The Easter Bunny didn't come, did he?" Danny asks suddenly; Superman hovers uncertainly in the air.

Steve's not sure how to answer that question. If he tells Danny, no, will that lead to years of future therapy? If he tells Danny, yes, that means he's got to figure out just what the hell the Easter Bunny actually does, and in time for Danny not to know that the dude isn't real. He's already had a close call with Santa. Steve doesn't want to ruin every holiday for Danny simply because he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing, and because his own childhood wasn't overflowing with the kinds of things that it appears that Danny's was, before Steve came crashing into it, that is.

"It's okay if he didn't," Danny says, though it's clear by the way that he tries, but fails, to sound nonchalant, that it's a pretty big deal if the Easter Bunny doesn't show up in some way other than the ridiculously sugary pancakes Danny's conning Steve into making.

It's just as Steve's opening his mouth to voice a reply that he's not even certain of yet that the doorbell rings, and, despite the early hour, Steve is flooded with relief, because he has literally been saved by the bell. He shakes off the usual fears that getting such an early call in the morning bring to mind, and stands, Batman in hand, to go answer the door, Danny following at his heels with Superman.

The sun is just starting to rise. Evidence that it's going to be a beautiful day is spilling out across the living room floor in a wash of orange color, and Steve is filled with a sense of peace that he's certain is going to be short-lived, because no one rings his bell at six something in the morning on a Sunday without wanting something business-related from him. He's going over every possible reason for this intrusion on his morning, thinking about how quickly he can get Danny to safety should he need to, and wondering just how much of a disappointment this Easter is going to be for Danny as he looks through the peephole in the door, and does a quick visual, and mental sweep of the front porch and its surroundings.

No one's there, and Steve frowns. Batman's clutched tightly in a fist, and though there's a part of him that wants to rush Danny up the stairs and lock him in his room until he's certain that there's no danger, there's another part of him that is comforted by the feel of Danny's hands clutching at the legs of his pajamas, and Superman's tiny fists digging into the back of one of his knees.

"Who is it, Uncle Steve?" Danny asks in a small, quiet voice, no doubt sensing Steve's caution.

"No one," Steve says, shrugging. There's no sign of danger, and, though he knows he heard the doorbell ring, there's no sign of footprints leading up to the porch, no tire tracks in the dirt driveway. No sign that anyone actually rang the doorbell. It's puzzling, and Steve scratches his head.

"Maybe it was the Easter Bunny," Danny says, voice filled with awe and the certainty of childhood faith.

Superman's fists dig even further into the back of Steve's knee and he can feel Danny trembling. The boy is practically vibrating with pent up excitement, and Steve curses himself and his bad luck in kidnapping a child who'd come from a happy home, and then having a change of heart and keeping him when he should have given the boy to Wo Fat like he'd planned.

Looking down at Danny's curly head of hair, seeing the look of anticipation on the little boy's face, Steve knows that he wouldn't go back in time even if he could, though. As hard as all of this is, and as bad as Steve feels for what he's done, he wouldn't trade this time that he's had with Danny for anything. Not even doing the right thing by Danny and his family. He knows that makes him selfish, but Steve doesn't care.

"I don't think it was the Easter Bunny, Danny," Steve says, trying to keep his voice light. He doesn't want a sobbing six year old on his hands. Not that Danny's ever thrown a fit when something hasn't gone his way. He's a great kid, and doesn't throw fits like Steve's seen other kids do. Danny seems to take everything in stride, now that Steve thinks about it.

"Can you check?" Danny asks, peeking up at Steve from around Steve's legs. "Please? Jus' in case?"

Danny's eyes are shining with hope, and he's smiling up at Steve. There's a single golden ringlet falling into Danny's eyes, and the boy's fingers are digging into Steve's pajama bottoms; Superman's fists are giving him a charlie horse, and Steve finds himself nodding as though he's operating on autopilot. He has no will of his own anymore, it's been usurped by a wisp of a six year old boy who holds Steve's entire universe in his hands.

Heart pounding like mad in his chest, because Steve knows that when he opens the door there's going to be nothing there, and that, even if Danny doesn't pitch a fit (he won't) Steve will still feel like the biggest loser on the planet for letting Danny down because the Easter Bunny hasn't come. Never mind the fact that Steve had been absolutely clueless about everything related to the holiday until a few minutes ago, and that he hadn't anticipated this early morning ding-dong-ditch, he's still the one that Danny's going to be looking to for answers as to why the doorbell hadn't been a visit from the Easter Bunny.

Heart in his throat, Steve opens the door, trying to prepare for the worst, and is nearly bowled over by Danny as the little boy bolts through his legs and out the door.

Steve stands there in shock for far longer than he'll ever admit, and nearly gouges his eyes out when he goes to rub them to dispel what must be some kind of mirage, and is poked in the eye by a forgotten Batman. Scowling, Steve tucks Batman into the waistband of his pajama bottoms and crouches down so that he has a better view of the miracle that has occurred on his front porch.

Danny's sitting there, a forgotten Superman lying face down beside him, as he rummages through the biggest wicker basket that Steve has ever seen outside of a picnic basket. It's got a large, yellow bow, nearly the size of Danny's head, positioned at the top of the handle, and it's practically overflowing with chocolates and candy, and there's the biggest looking chocolate bunny that Steve has ever seen (not that he's really ever seen one before, but he's certain that Danny's got the biggest one that they make) poking its head out at him.

There's also a stuffed rabbit. Not a pink, blue, or overly fluffy one, which Steve is secretly grateful for; not that Danny's too big to have stuffed animals or anything. He's still a little boy after all. Steve's just glad that the stuffed animal Danny's got is made up of some kind of patch work, like a quilt. The little boy's already clutching it to his chest, and he's got what appears to be the head of a chocolate bunny sticking out of his mouth, the ears disappearing right in front of Steve's eyes at rapid speed.

"Slow down there, tiger," Steve says, chuckling and running a hand through his hair. He's almost certain that he should be checking the bountiful basket for booby traps or grenades, or smuggled snakes, but seeing Danny so happy has his heart doing these mega flip flops, and it's impossible for him to do anything other than let Danny enjoy the moment.

There's a white envelope lying abandoned on the other side of Superman, and Steve reaches for it with a hand that, much to his embarrassment - not that Danny's noticing anything other than what's inside of the basket - is shaking. It's addressed to Danny and Steve, and with caution, Steve opens it, and pulls out a card that's shaped like the head of a cartoon rabbit. it has googly eyes, and the ears are fuzzy and blue. He gives it a cautious sniff, and frowns, nose crinkling at the benign scent of card-stock.

The note inside has Steve's eyes stinging, and his heart filling with emotion. It's simple, and so much like his Aunt Deb that Steve has to laugh. He'll have to call her later and thank her for doing this Danny, and for him.

"Uncle Steve, look, it's a 'celiraptor," Danny says, holding up a winged dinosaur, his latest obsession, and Steve tucks the card back into its envelope, tries not to cringe at the chocolate that covers Danny's mouth and the hand not clutching the patchwork animal to his chest.

"C'mon, tiger, how about if we bring all of this inside, and start working on our Easter pancakes?" Steve suggests, and he helps Danny repack all of the candy and toys he'd taken out of the basket, and carries it, and the forlorn Superman (tucked into his waistband next to Batman) into the kitchen. Danny follows him inside, telling Steve about each and every item he had discovered inside of the basket.

Steve has a feeling that Easter's going to be a long, tiring day, but, seeing Danny's wide smile, and hearing the boy's voice, untroubled and filled with excitement, makes it all, including the panicked moments leading up to this, worth it. Steve can't keep the smile off his face as Danny directs him in the making of Easter pancakes that Steve doubts have any right to be on the food pyramid at all by the time that he's got one placed on Danny's plate, with a helping of eggs and cheesy potatoes on the side - in the shape of Easter eggs at Danny's insistence.

Watching Danny shovel the sugary concoction that can no longer be called a pancake into his mouth, pausing every now and again to eat a tiny bite of eggs or cheesy potatoes, Steve can't remember a time that he's been happier. He takes a bite of his own pancake and grimaces at the overly sugary taste of it and forces himself to swallow it down, and smile at Danny who is looking at him with a twinkle in his eye, and an eager anticipation of Steve's judgment of their joint effort in cooking.

Steve nods at Danny, and says, "Mmm, good," and though he feels like spitting it out, he forces down another bite, and then another until most of the pancake is gone, and then washes it all down with eggs and cheesy potatoes and strong coffee. He lets Danny eat the rest of his 'pancake' and insists that the boy finish his small portion of eggs and potatoes, which Danny does after staging a small protest in the form of a slight frown and pout.

Afterwards, they clean up, and Steve lets Danny choose one more candy from his basket, which in reality turns out to be 'just one more, please?' and, doe eyes, 'one more?' and Steve wonders at his own sanity as Danny seems to have doubled with the amount of energy that the boy seems to have, but he crashes, almost literally, falling asleep mid-play, sometime before noon, and Steve is left to clean up the aftermath of a six-year-old on a sugar high. He doesn't mind though. It's calming after everything that's happened, and the chocolate and toy storm that Danny's left behind in his living room.

After Steve tucks Danny into bed for his afternoon nap, loosening the tie, and exchanging slacks for shorts, the button down for a tee shirt, Steve sits back and simply watches the little boy sleep, wondering at his luck. He pinches himself, needing to prove that none of this has been a dream, and then, pushing the hair off of Danny's forehead, and smiling at the way the little boy smacks his lips in sleep, Steve stands and returns to his own room for a nap, because, as it turns out, Easter, with a six year old, is exhausting.


	3. A Window in Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Mother's Day approaches, Danny's overwhelmed with feelings that spiral out of control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Mother's Day. It's filled with angst, and some fluff. I hope that this is alright; I'm worried that it won't be. The next few chapters are not holiday related.
> 
> keiki = child; haole = "a term used in the U.S. state of Hawaii to refer to individuals of European ancestry" (sometimes/often used in a derogatory manner; sometimes it isn't used offensively - it depends on the relationship of the people involved); lyrics to the song, "Baby Mine," are from bus songs dot com.

Danny blinked back tears, and swallowed down a sob. He held his breath, and let it out slowly. He didn't want any of the other kids to make fun of him, or call him a baby for crying, but he really missed his mother.

They were making Mother's Day cards at school, and every time that Danny closed his eyes, he could picture his mother. Her pretty smile, her hair, the way that her eyes seemed to shine (like the silver of the necklace that she wore) whenever she looked at Danny. He could even smell her perfume if he concentrated hard enough. It was flowery and made him think of the garden that she kept behind their house.

His mother was dead, though, and that meant that she was never coming back. He would never smell her perfume again. Never feel the soft silk of her hair against his cheek when she hugged him close, or her arms tight around him.

"Danny, what's wrong?" Mrs. Ke'aloha knelt beside Danny's chair and dipped her head so that she could look him in the eye.

Danny lowered his head, and stared at his hands clasped tightly together in his lap. His bottom lip was starting to tremble, and he could feel the tears burning his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. The kids already made fun of him, because he was a haole, and not from Hawaii, and he only had Uncle Steve for a parent.

He didn't want to get into another fight. Not today. He was too tired, and sad, and he just wanted to go home, and have one of Auntie Deb's chocolate chip cookies, and watch, "SpongeBob SquarePants," or "The Amazing World of Gumball," or play with his action figures.

"What happened, keiki?" Mrs. Ke'aloha placed a hand on Danny's shoulder, and her long, black hair shielded Danny's face from the curious gazes of the other students.

Danny imagined that he could feel everyone staring at him, and he hunched down further into his chair. Mrs. Ke'aloha's hand tightened on his shoulder; the warmth, and comfort, of it reminded Danny of his mother.

Danny bit his bottom lip, and dug his fingernails into the backs of his hands to keep from crying. "I want to go home," he managed to get the words out between his teeth and lip.

"Danny?" Mrs. Ke'aloha was so close that Danny could smell her perfume, and he held his breath, because it was too much like his mother's.

"I want to go home," Danny repeated, a little louder, but still low enough so that only his teacher could hear him.

The other students were busy making their Mother's Day cards, and presents, heads bent over their projects, mouths moving a mile a minute as they talked to their friends while they worked. Danny couldn't see or hear any of it though. His heart was heavy, and his mind flooded with fleeting images of his mother - hands covered in flour as she baked a cake; a smudge of dirt on her nose after working in the garden; cheeks flecked with freckles from being out in the sun; lips quirked upward in a smile as she listened to Danny talk about his day at school - that were hard to slow down, hard to remember clearly.

"Why, honey?"

It was his mother's voice, and his mother's hand on his shoulder, and his mother's hair that brushed against his face, soft as Danny's favorite blue shirt. Danny couldn't hold back a sob as he turned toward his teacher, and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face against her, pretending that she was his mother and not his teacher, that he was home, and his mother had just come in from the garden to check up on him and help him with his homework, or just to give him a hug. She was warm and smelled like roses and dirt and fresh air.

"I miss my, mom," Danny whispered, tightening his arms around his teacher who was nothing, and everything, like his mother. She was kind, and caring, and she always smiled at Danny, except for when he did something wrong, or got into a fight with Jimmy or Kento, then she'd frown, just like his mom had done when she'd been alive, and Danny had gotten caught in a lie, or something worse.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," Mrs. Ke'aloha said.

Wrapping her arms around Danny, she pulled him onto her lap, and allowed him to hold onto her as tightly as he needed to, and didn't say a word when the tears started to fall, not even when he got her shirt got all wet and snotty.

She held him, and rubbed his back like his mother used to, and whispered something to Ms. Loni, the student teacher who helped out in the classroom. Then she whispered comforting words for Danny's ears only, and for a moment he was back in New Jersey with his mother comforting him after he'd skinned his knee, or had a nightmare.

Mrs. Ke'aloha held Danny until his tears dried up, and all that was left of his crying jag were the jarring hiccups that made it hard for him to breathe without his chest and stomach hurting.

When Danny reluctantly turned his head away from the comfort of Mrs. Ke'aloha's neck, she handed him some tissues, and helped him back to his chair. He looked up, mouth down-turned into a scowl, fists at the ready to hit anyone who dared to made fun of him for crying. All of the students were gone, though. Danny was missing recess, one of the best parts of the day, aside from lunch and story-time, but it didn't matter, because he missed his mom more.

Uncle Steve was there, sitting across from Danny in one of the little chairs, knees bent at an awkward angle. He was watching Danny with a look on his face that reminded Danny of the time that one of his father's friends from the station had died in a fire. His father had had that same look on his face, and Danny's stomach felt all twisty inside to see that look on his uncle's face.

"I'll just be outside with the other children, and Ms. Loni," Mrs. Ke'aloha said.

She smiled and waved at Danny, and then, after Uncle Steve nodded, she slipped out of the door, closing it behind her.

"Hey, Danny." Uncle Steve's voice was quiet, and sad, and Danny wondered if he was in trouble again.

He'd already been sentenced to his room for the weekend - no toys, no surfing lessons, no bike - because he and Kento had gotten into a fight earlier that week, and, though Uncle Steve hadn't known what to do, and had only told Danny not to do it again (as if), Danny had told him that he needed consequences. Even though he didn't want them, Danny knew it was the right thing to do.

It's what his mother would have done. Danny'd gotten into a lot of fights at his other school, too, and knew what his punishment for giving someone a black eye should be: No dessert for a week, no fun on the weekend. No TV. No cookies. _"No nothing, until you can learn that using your words is better than using your fists, Mister."_ Danny missed his mother's voice. He didn't want to forget it.

Obviously Danny still hadn't learned this particular lesson, because he was still using his fists, and his words only seemed to make things worse, especially here. What good were words if they only made other people want to use their fists on him?

"Ready to come home?" Uncle Steve seemed unsure about what to do with his hands, putting them on his knees, and then reaching toward Danny, but then pulling them back again.

Danny sniffed, and nodded, and wished that he could disappear into thin air like the magician at Meka's birthday party had done, so that none of his classmates could see him as he walked out of the school with Uncle Steve. He knew that his face was red and blotchy, that everyone who looked at him would know that he'd been crying.

"Alright, buddy, why don't you put your things together? We can pick up hamburgers on the way home. How does that sound?" Uncle Steve asked, and Danny frowned.

Uncle Steve never got Danny hamburgers unless he felt bad about something. He shouldn't feel bad about this, though. It wasn't like Uncle Steve had killed Danny's mom, or had cried all over Mrs. Ke'aloha's shirt like a two-year-old, making her all wet and snotty.

Uncle Steve had saved Danny from the fire that killed his family. He had protected him, and he was taking care of him now that Danny's parents were gone.

The memories of that dark time were all jumbled up in Danny's head, and Danny didn't know which of his own disjointed memories to believe - the ones that woke him up at night and made him cry, or the ones that made his stomach ache, or the ones that twisted the story that Uncle Steve had told him until he felt dizzy - but he knew that he could trust Uncle Steve, because Uncle Steve would never lie to him. Danny was sure of it.

Suspicious, eyes narrowing on his guardian, Danny crossed his arms over his chest. "How come?" he asked.

He'd made a mess of his teacher's shirt, blubbering like a baby, and hadn't even started, let alone completed, his school project for the day. Even though his stomach hurt to think about making the Mother's Day card, and picture frame, he felt that he should, because it was a school project, and his mother had told him that it was important to always do his school work, even when he didn't understand the what or why of it, or didn't feel like doing it. School was important. It took you places, and helped you become a better, smarter person, but only if you did the work.

He'd learned that lesson back when he really _was_ a baby, in kindergarten, when he'd refused to draw a horse in his art class and had instead drawn a picture of himself as a hero, cape and all. His teacher, and parents, had not been happy, but he hadn't understood why it was so important that he learn how to draw a horse. He wasn't going to _be_ a horse when he was older, he was going to be a hero, like his dad. He still didn't understand, but that wasn't the point.

The point was that his teacher had told him to do something, and he had done his own thing, which wasn't very nice. He should be punished for not doing what his teacher had told him to, not rewarded with hamburgers.

"Because I feel like having burgers tonight," Uncle Steve said, not beating around the bush, understanding exactly what Danny was getting at. He shrugged, and crossed his arms over his chest, mirroring Danny's pose.

"It's not right, Uncle Steve," Danny said quietly. His eyes itched from all of the crying he'd done, and his nose felt stuffy, and his head ached.

"What's not right, Danny?" Uncle Steve asked, leaning forward, pinning Danny with a look that made Danny feel like squirming.

Danny's chest was tight, and he could feel the hot press of tears behind his eyes. He couldn't cry again, though. He didn't have any tears left.

"It's not right," Danny repeated.

The air felt thick, and Danny just wanted his mom to come walking through the door and pick him up and fix everything, though Danny also wanted to keep his Uncle Steve, Aunties Deb and Kono, and Uncle Chin. They were family now, even if his heart felt like it had a hole in it where his mother and father used to be. They were gone, and his heart was no longer whole, and he really wanted his mom right now. His mom had always known what to say and to make things better, and to make Danny feel better.

"My mom's dead, and it's not right, and I don't want hamburgers!" Danny shouted.

He stood up from his chair so fast that it toppled to the floor behind him. Hands in fists, he stood there, trembling, wanting to hit Kento or Jimmy, and maybe even Uncle Steve until all of the hurt went away, because his mom was not going to walk through that door, only Mrs. Ke'aloha was, and, as soft and wonderful as her hugs were, they were not the same as his mother's. No one's hugs were the same. Not Auntie Deb's or Kono's, or Uncle Steve's or Chin's.

"I want my mom," Danny said. "I don't want hamburgers, I want my mom."

Danny was wrong, he did have more tears left, they were spilling out of his eyes even faster than they had when Mrs. Ke'aloha had held him earlier.

Uncle Steve was in front of him before Danny realized that the man had moved. He picked Danny up, and didn't even scold him when Danny kicked and hit him as hard as he could, screaming wordlessly as all of the terror and rage that he'd been feeling for what felt like forever started pouring out of him. He'd held everything in for so long; he couldn't hold it in any longer.

He pounded his fists into Uncle Steve's chest until his arms and hands hurt, and screamed until he had to stop, because he was too hurt and tired, and his throat was too sore for him to continue.

When it was over, Danny slumped against Uncle Steve's chest, and let the man hold and comfort him, and rub small circles in his back, just like his mother used to do. He was no longer angry, he felt sad and empty and cold.

Shivering, Danny held onto Uncle Steve, leeching off some of the man's warmth. He drew in a shuddering breath and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Danny," Uncle Steve said, his voice rough and hoarse, like he'd been crying too. Danny knew that couldn't be true. Nothing could make Uncle Steve cry. He wasn't a baby. Wasn't weak like Danny.

"I miss my mom, too," Uncle Steve confessed into Danny's hair. "I wish I could bring your mom back. That I could go back in time and fix all of this. I would, in a heartbeat."

Danny sniffed, and grabbed a handhold of Uncle Steve's shirt, rubbing the soft fabric between his thumb and fingers like he'd done with his blanket when he'd been a baby. It felt right and soothing, and almost took his mind off of what he'd done. He'd blown up at Uncle Steve, but the man wasn't punishing him. Instead, he was holding him and telling him that he would fix things if he could. No one could fix this. Not even Danny's mom.

"I wish you could bring your mom back, too," Danny whispered, because he knew how much it hurt to lose a mom, and he didn't want anyone else to hurt like that. It felt like Danny imagined dying would feel, only worse.

Uncle Steve made a strange sound, kind of like a sob, and Danny was almost certain that the man was crying now, and he wanted to open his eyes to confirm it, but his eyelids were too heavy, and his head felt like it was going to fall off of his neck, and he wanted to go home now. If Mrs. Ke'aloha said it was okay, he was going to finish his schoolwork there. He had crayons and markers, glue and all sorts of glittery stuff he could use to make a card and frame at home.

"I wanna go home," Danny spoke the words into the crook of Steve's neck. "Do you think it would be okay with Mrs. K if I made a Mother's Day card and frame for Auntie Deb instead of my mom?"

"That'll be more than alright, Danny." Mrs. Ke'aloha brushed Danny's hair back from his face as she spoke. "I'm sorry about what happened today. I didn't know."

"I should have informed the school," Uncle Steve said.

Danny let their words wash over him as he rested. It felt like he was being carried on a wave. He was suddenly filled with panic as he realized that he hadn't even heard his teacher enter the room. If he hadn't heard her, maybe he hadn't heard his entire class enter the room either.

Danny fought to open his eyes, dreading what he'd see when he did. He could picture his whole class standing there, or sitting in their table groups, staring at him, and laughing at him, or giving him looks of pity. The thought of it made his stomach turn sour.

Blinking his eyes open, Danny took a look around the room. Other than Mrs. Ke'aloha and him and Uncle Steve, no one else was there. Danny sighed in relief, until he saw Kento standing just inside of the door. He was staring at Danny, eyes wide, and lips slightly parted. If Danny wasn't mistaken there were tears in Kento's eyes, but Kento was one of Danny's tormentors, so the tears couldn't be for Danny. Their hatred for each other was mutual.

"Kento Ogura, how long have you been standing there? Does Ms. Loni know where you are?" Mrs. Ke'aloha sounded both mad and tired at the same time.

Danny watched as she walked over to Kento, a frown and her face, her eyes glinting in a way that meant that Kento would be sent to timeout and that he'd get a not so nice phone call home. Danny was happy that he wasn't in Kento's shoes - for once. He had gotten in a lot of trouble at school lately.

"I'm sorry," Kento said. "I didn't mean it."

"C'mon, Danny, let's go get your things together so we can go home," Steve said quietly, and he eased Danny onto his feet, steering him away from Kento and Mrs. Ke'aloha.

Danny blinked up at him owlishly, frowning, not wanting to leave the comfort and warmth of his uncle's arms, but he nodded, and quickly obeyed, gathering up his backpack and haphazardly stuffing his work into it. He'd go through it later.

When Danny was finished, Uncle Steve was waiting for him by the chair that Danny'd sent crashing to the floor earlier. He'd picked it up, and pushed it up to the table, and Danny felt guilty, because he should have done that himself. It was his fault the chair had fallen over in the first place.

"C'mon," Uncle Steve said. "I want to get burgers, french fries and milkshakes. Don't argue with me," he said when Danny opened his mouth to protest.

Danny clamped his lips shut and nodded. He still felt like he should be punished for something after everything that had happened, but he also kind of felt like maybe his mom would be okay with how things turned out today if she'd been there to see it. If anyone would have understood Danny's explosion, it would have been her, though it seemed as though Uncle Steve understood it, too.

"Chocolate milkshakes?" Danny asked, glancing sidelong at his uncle, and taking the man's hand in his and swinging it a little. Uncle Steve's hand was big and strong. It was safe.

He was still a little tired, and his head was still stuffy, but he did feel better, and a chocolate milkshake with french fries to dip in it would make him feel even better. It was something that he and his mom used to do when they'd had a bad day, and Danny smiled as the memory did not make him feel sad, but happy that he could do the same thing with his Uncle Steve.

He was even looking forward to making a card for his Auntie Deb. Danny also wanted to make a card for his mom, too, even though he couldn't give it to her in person. Maybe God could give it to her for him, or let her see it from a window in heaven. Danny hoped so. He'd make a card for Uncle Steve's mom, too, so that when she looked down from heaven, she'd have a card for Mother's Day to look at, so that she wouldn't feel left out.

As they walked past where Kento was standing with Mrs. Ke'aloha, getting one of her mile-long lectures, the little boy reached out to Danny. Expecting to be hit or taunted, Danny tensed, and he curled his hand into a fist, ready to strike back. Instead of hitting Danny, though, Kento hugged him.

"I'm sorry about your mom," he said. "My dad died last year. I still miss him lots."

"I'm sorry about your dad," Danny said, hugging the boy back.

He felt a little lighter as he walked down the hallway, hand held snug in Uncle Steve's.

He wasn't alone. He had Uncle Steve, and a whole other family. They weren't like the family that Danny had lost, but they were good to him, and took care of him, and he loved them, and he could almost hear his mother telling him that it was okay for Danny to love them almost as much as he'd loved her. Danny knew that, no matter how hard he tried, he could never love anyone as much as he'd loved his mother. He wasn't even going to try, because that wouldn't be fair to her.

"You think that it'll be okay if I make a card for my mom and your mom, and ask God to let our moms see them from heaven?" Danny asked. "Maybe he could open a window, just on Mother's Day. I think he'd do that for all moms, not just ours, and Kento's dad, if we asked him real nice."

Uncle Steve's hand tightened around Danny's, and he cleared his throat, and when Danny glanced at him, he could see his uncle's mouth moving wordlessly. He squeezed Uncle Steve's hand, and waited for an answer, hoping that he'd not made his uncle mad with his question.

"You could make your mom a card, instead, if you'd like," Danny said, worried that Uncle Steve was upset with him for suggesting that he make the man's mother a card.

"No, Danny," Uncle Steve said, voice breaking. He cleared his throat again. "I think my mother would love that. Thank you for thinking of her."

"Do you think God will do it?" Danny asked, holding his arms up as Uncle Steve secured him in his seat.

"Do what, Danny?" Steve asked.

"Let our mothers look down on us from heaven on Mother's Day, so they can see what we made for them?" Danny's eyes were drooping as the emotions from the day caught up with him, and he yawned.

Danny could feel Uncle Steve nodding. He felt a kiss on the top of his head. "Yeah, buddy, I think he will."

"Good," Danny said around another yawn. "I can't wait for my mom to see the card I'm going to make her. Do you think our mothers will get to meet each other in heaven?"

"I hope so," Uncle Steve said.

"Me, too," Danny said, voice trailing off as he fought sleep. He wanted a chocolate milkshake and french fries and a burger. "I don't want my mom to be all alone."

"I'm sure she's not, Danny," Uncle Steve said. "She's got you, and as long as you keep her in your heart, she's not alone, she's with you."

"I 'member her singing," Danny said. On the verge of sleep, he could almost hear her voice and the lullaby that she'd sing to him when he couldn't fall asleep at night, or when he felt really bad: " _Baby mine, don't you cry, baby mine, dry your eyes, rest your head close to my heart, never to part, baby of mine..."_

The pull of sleep won over, as Steve drove, and in Danny's dream, his mother held him close and sang.

 


	4. Hide and Go Seek Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny plays hide-and-go-seek with Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Initially written for fan_flashworks at Dreamwidth. 
> 
> Read by swifters.
> 
> I apologize for errors.
> 
> The second part is from Steve's point of view.

Danny bit his tongue, and held a hand over his mouth in an attempt to make himself as quiet as, if not quieter than, a mouse. He held his breath, and closed his eyes, even though he knew that closing his eyes would not make him any less visible if his hiding place was found.

Heart thundering in his chest, Danny chanced opening an eye, and peeking around the corner of the couch that he was hiding behind. He quickly drew his head back, and ducked down closer toward the floor. It wasn't the most ideal place to hide, but it was the only place he could find in the short amount of time that he'd had. If he'd had more time, he'd have found a better place to hide, like the closet, or the laundry room. It was snug, but he could still fit behind the washer and dryer.

Danny silently counted to ten, and willed his pounding heart to slow down. He concentrated on taking deep, calming breaths, like Auntie Kono had taught him when she'd come over to show Danny how to surf. If he was too anxious, then he'd be found, because he'd give his position away, and Danny really did not want to be found.

Danny tensed when he heard one of the floorboards nearest the couch creak. It was a loose board, and Danny had learned to avoid it whenever he was trying especially hard to be quiet when Uncle Steve was working.

"Shit." Though the word was whispered, it felt to Danny like it was echoing loudly in his head, and he tried to flatten himself to the floor.

Danny hoped that his seeker would not come any closer to his hiding place, that he wouldn't look over the back of the couch and find Danny lying on the floor, wedged between the couch and the wall. He counted to ten, breathing as quietly as he could - in and out through his nose, which was just a little stuffy on account of he'd just gotten over a cold - and listened, just like Uncle Steve had taught him to.

Though his seeker was also being as quiet as possible, Danny could hear footsteps, and breathed out a sigh of relief that they were leaving the living room. If he was really quick, and quiet, he knew that he could make it to the laundry room, or hide in the linen closet in the hallway.

When Danny could no longer hear the footsteps, he rose up onto his knees, and inched toward the end of the couch, heart in his throat, and barely breathing. His palms were sweaty, and his hands shook as he peeked around the arm of the couch.

The living room was clear, and a quick look toward the kitchen confirmed that his stalker was searching for him there, crouching to open one of the cupboards, and peering inside of it.

Taking a deep breath, and throwing caution to the wind, Danny stood, and darted out from behind the couch. He dashed toward the laundry room, careful to avoid the loose board, and thankful that he was wearing socks because he'd just returned home from school. They muffled the sound of his footsteps, giving him extra protection from being detected.

Danny slid into the laundry room, and threw himself behind the washer and dryer just as he heard the cupboard door clacking shut, and heavy footsteps entering the living room again.

His breathing was ragged and loud in his own ears, and he closed his eyes, picturing Auntie Kono as he went through the breathing exercises that she'd taught him. She'd said that he was making good progress, and that Danny was a quick learner, which had made him very proud. He'd hoped that it would make Uncle Steve proud of him, too, but he'd not said anything to Danny about it, though he had ruffled Danny's hair and smiled at him.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are." The words rang throughout the house, and Danny's heart raced. This was it. He just had to stay hidden for a little while longer, just until Uncle Steve declared Danny the winner of this round of hide-and-seek, and it would be Danny's turn to count to twenty, and Uncle Steve's turn to hide.

He quivered with suppressed excitement, thrilled that, for once, he'd managed to find a hiding place that was good enough to fool the man who was an expert at the game. Uncle Steve had found Danny every other time, but this time Danny knew that he had won the game when Uncle Steve walked right past the laundry room, not even bothering to glance inside of it as he passed by (Danny watched him through the crack between the dryer and the washer).

"Alright," Uncle Steve said in a defeated voice. "I give up. You can come out now, Danny."

Pumping his hand in the air in triumph, and smiling, Danny clambered out from behind the dryer, making as little noise as possible, because he wanted to sneak up on Uncle Steve, and take him by surprise, like he'd done to Danny countless times.

Danny approached his Uncle Steve on tiptoes, creeping up behind the man, and biting down on his lips to keep himself from making too much noise. Uncle Steve was standing in the hallway, back to Danny, one hand on his hip, and the other raking through his hair.

"Danny?" Uncle Steve took a few steps. There was worry in his voice, and Danny rushed forward, not wanting to make the man that he secretly thought of as his new Daddy too worried about him, and wrapped his arms around Steve's legs, nearly toppling the both of them with the force of the hug.

"Wha-" Uncle Steve's hand flew to the top of Danny's head, and he braced himself against the wall with his other hand.

"IdiditDa...UncleSteve," Danny muttered against the back of Uncle Steve's legs. His words were muffled by the fabric of the man's cargo pants because he'd buried his face there as a sudden fear of losing the man hit him, and made it a little hard to breathe, like Jimmy's (a boy from school) sucker punch from the other day had. Becoming friends with Kento had made things a little better at school, but it was far from perfect. Danny was still picked on, and he still answered threats and boasts with his fists instead of words. Jimmy did, too.

"You sure did, buddy," Uncle Steve said, his voice filled with something that Danny didn't recognize.

Still holding Uncle Steve's legs tight, Danny tilted his head back, and peered up at Uncle Steve through his bangs. The man was smiling down on him, his blue-green eyes shining with something that made Danny's heart swell.

Uncle Steve ran his fingers through Danny's hair. "I'm proud of you for being such a good hider, Danny," Uncle Steve said, and, embarrassed, Danny buried his face against the back of the man's knees.

"You did good, Danny," Uncle Steve praised, voice soft and filled with love and pride and everything that Danny missed about his father.

Danny blinked back tears, and sucked in a shaky breath as he pulled back from Uncle Steve's legs, releasing his hold on the man, and giggling when Uncle Steve seemed to wobble in place for a few seconds before righting himself.

Uncle Steve turned and knelt down in front of Danny. Opening his arms wide, he said, "C'mere," and Danny flung himself into the open arms, breathing in the scent of the ocean, and strange spices, and other scents that made this man Uncle Steve, Danny's new Daddy (sometimes he missed his real Daddy so much that it was hard to breathe), and home.

 


	5. Hide and Go Seek Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's thoughts as he plays hide and seek with Danny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Part II of hide-and-go-seek. Some of this will match the events of the previous chapter. Heavy angst. Compartmentalizing is something that my mother once attempted to explain to me. I am not very good at it. I don't have mental boxes where I can keep information, or feelings. I know that others do, and that the practice can help people function in the world. This chapter might be uncomfortable for some to read. It does end on a positive note, and I think that it gives some insight into why Steve is the way that he is. Not that this is an excuse for his behavior. It is not.
> 
> **Warning:** Graphic depictions of violence, and the death of a child. I do not condone violence toward children, but am aware that it does happen, and that there are children who are pressed into military service at very young ages. I do not believe that it is good to turn a blind eye toward it. There is information about this practice on Unicef, do something dot org, global issues dot org, the Council on Foreign Relations, and other websites that are dedicated to educating people about this issue, in the hopes of bringing an end to it.

Steve knew that it was only a matter of time before his enemies caught onto the fact that he now had a 'son' and tried to use Danny against him. The thought of one of them coming into his home, and taking Danny away from him by force, terrified him, and the fact that it terrified him, terrified him.

He wasn't supposed to care too deeply about anyone or anything. It was a promise that he'd made to himself when he was a kid, sometime after his father had sent him and his sister away after their mother had died.

He'd cared about his father, about Mary, about his mom, and, in a way, had lost all three of them on the same day. His memory of that time was always indistinct, covered by a dark cloud of swirling emotions that Steve had been ill-equipped to handle on his own at the time. His father had been just as ill-equipped, and Mary, the youngest, hadn't known what to do. Her grief was rolling thunder and lightning that struck everything around her.

Steve hadn't known what to do with his anger, and his way of striking out had landed him in a few jail cells before the man his father had sent him to live with, Joe White, had had enough and Steve found himself in the Navy. Becoming a Navy SEAL was just a way of channeling the anger that still simmered beneath his skin whenever he thought about his mother and father, his sister Mary.

He'd made an actual vow, one day, when the grief and anger had gotten to be too much for him to handle, and there was no other outlet for it than planting his fist through someone else's face, that he was no longer going to let himself care for another person. And, up until Danny, he'd done just that.

He'd forged friendships over the years, and had girlfriends, but not a single one of them had touched his heart. They were friendships of conveniences, nothing more than an easy lay, or someone to hang out with. He could pour on the charm when he needed to, to get what he wanted. He'd been good at that, even before his vow.

Now, though, his throat closed up at the mere thought of something happening to Danny. Of someone taking him away from him the way that he'd taken Danny away from his family. It wasn't right, he knew that.

Some people called him a sociopath. It was a misnomer he'd come to accept over the years. He knew they thought he was a sociopath because of his efficiency, and the fact that he could torture someone for days on end without showing any emotion whatsoever, and then, if his client asked for it, kill without suffering from a guilty conscience. He knew better, though. His team did, too.

Thanks to his training with the Navy, Steve knew how to compartmentalize, and even shut off, his feelings when he needed to, something that he'd desperately needed to learn how to do when he was younger, and which was important in his current line of work.

He'd taken to his training in a way that had earned him high praises in the Navy, and a reputation in his line of work that ensured he and his team had steady work. People hired him, because he was an 'emotionless son of a bitch'. Sometimes Kono joked about making business cards with that client description as their tagline.

_Cold-blooded. Cold-hearted. Cold bastard._ Steve was familiar with all of the nicknames that he'd earned over the years, and he didn't give a fuck about any of them. Or at least he hadn't before Danny. Hell, he'd even encouraged them, but the thought of Danny somehow finding out about any of that had Steve waking in a cold sweat at night, heart pounding, mouth dry, and that wasn't right.

None of what had happened after he'd kidnapped Danny was right in Steve's life anymore. His mornings, when he was home, were no longer his own. Gone were the morning swims and runs along the beach, unless he brought Danny with him, which was not a viable option. The one time that he'd done it, with the intent of getting some exercise in, Danny had been more interested in picking up puka shells and rocks, and poking his finger into the holes of sand crabs, than exercising.

So Steve had changed his morning routine to fit Danny's needs, after a lecture from Chin, and his Aunt Deb, and even Kono. How was Steve to know that Danny wanted to spend time with him in the mornings before heading off to school? The kid hadn't said anything to him about it, and Steve had no idea how to read the boy's moods, though he was starting to get better at that.

A loud sigh, shoulders rising and dipping deeply, meant that Danny was disappointed about something, or by something that Steve had said or done. A puckered brow meant that he was angry. When Danny bit his bottom lip he was either trying not to cry, or working up to say something that he thought Steve might not like.

It was complicated, raising Danny, and Steve feared that it wasn't going to get any less complicated as Danny grew older. With his luck, it would get more complicated, and he'd have to change up even more of his routines, though some had (thankfully) remained the same.

His showers were still quick in and out deals, but it was no longer because of his training, and his desire not to waste water, but because leaving Danny unattended for any length of time (according to Aunt Deb) was not something that Steve could do. Not that he was inclined to take long, luxurious showers, but the idea that he couldn't, if at some point in time he wanted to, because he'd kept Danny, did not sit right with him.

Bathing Danny, on the other hand, seemed to take hours, though Steve knew the process typically only took a half an hour at most, unless he tacked on the amount of time spent cleaning up the bathroom afterwards. And, more often than not, bath time involved bubbles and toys and the sopping up of water that had splashed over the edge of the tub. Things that Steve didn't remember doing as a child.

There was a lot that Steve did not remember from his childhood. At first, he thought that he hadn't done any of this 'typical kid stuff' that he was doing with Danny, but after some off-hand comments from Aunt Deb, Steve realized that those memories had probably ended up compartmentalized and packed away in some dark corner of his mind along with everything else that he didn't have the time, or inclination, to think about.

Boxing up the memories of his dead mother, of the father who hadn't wanted him, of the pesky little sister he hadn't really known very well, and putting them away in the dark recesses of his mind, had made things easier, less complicated. It had taken away the hurt, and the pain. Had gotten rid of the anger, and the insanity that had gone along with it. It had made life manageable, and the world around him more predictable.

The problem was, Danny was not a predictable force of nature that Steve could easily push off to the side. He could not put Danny in a little mental box and deal with him later. He'd tried. It hadn't worked. Danny kept working his way out of the mental boxes that Steve created for him, like some kind of pint-sized Houdini.

Others who did not know him well might be fooled into thinking that Danny was having no effect on him, because Steve didn't show any outward emotion, but inside was a different story entirely. Inside, when it came to Danny, Steve's emotions were a chaotic mess. He didn't like it one bit, but as far as he could see, there was nothing he could do about it, because Danny refused to follow the normal order of things in Steve's life.

Like now, they're playing hide-and-seek. Danny was behind the couch, pressed almost flat against the floor, body in movement though he was clearly trying to remain still, and if Steve knew the little boy at all, Danny might not even be aware that he was moving. Elbows jerking, feet kicking up and down behind him, like he was swimming on dry land. The movements were slight, quiet, but to Steve's highly attuned senses, they painted a large target on Danny's coordinates. Marked him as vulnerable, an enemy that would be easy to capture and subdue.

Instead of closing in on his target, like he'd normally do, and should do, Steve walked into the kitchen, pretended to search for Danny in the cupboards. He made as much noise as he could, even though he knew that if someone was really in the house, searching for the little boy, they'd be making as little noise as possible, unless their goal was to flush Danny out with fear.

Steve should have found Danny as quickly as possible, not let the boy think that he was safe and secure when he wasn't. He should, even now, be disabusing Danny of the notion that it was a good idea to pop his head out of his hiding place to spy on the enemy when he wasn't in as secure a location as he could be, not rummaging through the pots and pans, and ignoring every instinct that he had for the sake of letting Danny have a minor victory. It was the best way to train Danny to hide well, and to rid him of those telltale sounds that he kept making by breathing too hard, and being in perpetual motion.

For Steve, their games of hide-and-go-seek were training exercises, though he hadn't told Danny that, because he hadn't wanted to scare the little boy. Steve knew that it was only a matter of time before someone tried to take Danny away, and that it wasn't going to be state officials, or the FBI. It was going to be one of his enemies, or a colleague, like Wo Fat, or Grover, or Taylor, who felt they needed leverage to get him to accept a job, or to blackmail him into cooperation.

Danny had moved from behind the couch, and though he was wearing socks, and running as quietly as he could into the laundry room, sliding the last few feet, the little boy's idea of stealth was no match for Steve's ability to detect where he was at all times. That came as second nature to Steve, being ultra aware of his surroundings. He never let his guard drop, not even in sleep, which turned out to be a very good thing when it came to caring for Danny.

There were nights when Danny, unable to sleep, snuck out of his room and down to the living room to watch whatever cartoon, or sports program was playing until he fell asleep. He kept the TV low, and made a small blanket and pillow nest in front of it. Eyes drooping, head nestled on a pillow, the teddy bear Kono had given him shortly after Steve made the decision to keep Danny clutched close, and the flickering lights from the TV washing over him, made him look even smaller and more vulnerable.

It was one of those nights, Danny sneaking out of his room, and heading for the living room rather than waking Steve and crawling into bed with him, that had decided it for Steve, and made him start these training exercises. To Danny, they were playing together, but Steve had another agenda entirely. One that he hoped would keep Danny safe from those who would seek to harm Steve through the little boy.

The fact that Steve silently counted to ten as Danny settled in his hiding place behind the washer and dryer set, before walking into the hallway, was not something that he was proud of, and it didn't sit right with him to let the little boy win. To some, this might seem like a good idea, to let the kid win, but to Steve, it was akin to letting someone take the boy away from him. It was little better than trussing Danny up, and presenting him as a sacrifice to someone who could potentially kill him. It was murder.

Steve's heart pounded in his chest, and his head hurt, and it was hard for him to breathe as he pictured the little boy laid out on the floor in front of the TV, body broken and bleeding, lights flickering over him, making it look like he was merely asleep. Yet, Steve stood in the hallway, ignored the grisly images that popped into his head and told him to win this game so that Danny would be safe in the long run. He ignored the calling of his own training, and the desire to beat out every bit of weakness of Danny's until the little boy was a finely honed son of a mercenary, able and willing to kill in self-defense.

If he did that, if he beat out all of what some would consider weaknesses in Danny, Steve knew that he'd lose everything that made Danny, Danny, and for some unfathomable reason, he didn't want to let that happen. It would be better, safer, for both of them if Steve started to work on erasing every inborn trait, and everything Danny had learned as a Williams, and refashioned him into a true McGarrett.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are." The words seemed to echo throughout the house, overly loud and abrasive. He'd taught Danny that those words were a trick, that he shouldn't trust them, but wait for the signal. Words that they'd both agreed on ahead of time. This was a test that Steve hoped Danny would pass.

Steve smiled and took a deep breath when his words were met with what, for Danny, passed as silence. There was a quiet rustling of clothing, and Steve could almost picture the little boy huddled behind the washer or dryer, hand clamped over his mouth to keep from breathing too loudly.

He'd done good. There was still a lot for them to work on, but Danny had improved in his ability to hide, and he'd learned how to be quieter. He wasn't perfect yet, and Steve wondered if it would ever be perfect. If he could train a child the way that he'd been trained as a young adult.

There were countries that did train their children to be soldiers. He'd been to them. Had once started down the barrel of a gun wielded by a boy about Danny's age. It had left him with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and made his blood run cold at the time, but he'd dealt with the threat in a way that had earned him praise from his superiors. He'd thought he'd never be able to wash the blood of it from his hands, or get it out of his uniform, but the water had eventually run clear, and his uniform, stain free, still hung in the back of his closet, starched and pressed, ready for use if he needed it.

He'd boxed that memory up, along with others, and filed it in an area of his mind that he rarely ever accessed.

He pictured the boy now, except it was Danny's face that stared back at him over the barrel of the gun, blue eyes cold as those of a dead fish. Golden curls a haloed crown on his head making him appear to be a cherubic angel of death.

Steve bit his tongue, and closed his eyes, swallowed the bile that burned its way up the back of his throat as the freshly remembered scene played out in his mind. Except it was Danny that he was seeing instead of the boy that he'd killed all those years ago. Danny that he was closing in on for the kill.

He remembered pulling his ka-bar, and moving faster than the boy's trigger finger had. Had he stood there a second longer, he'd have been killed. The kid had been aiming for the center of his forehead.

The echoing retort of the shot as it rang out had been loud and disorienting. A second shot followed. The bullet had ripped through the gut of one of Steve's buddies, but the sound, and the knowledge that one of them had been hit hadn't broken Steve's stride, and he was behind the boy quicker than the boy could raise the gun and aim again. Knife up, hand across the boy's mouth as he pushed the blade in, drew it across the boy's throat from ear to ear, the wound a gaping maw that dripped blood onto the thirsty desert floor.

Dead eyes had grown dimmer as the boy died in Steve's arms, warm blood coating his hands had made his own blood run cold. Steve remembered wiping the blade clean on his sleeve, and removing the gun from the boy's grip, disabling it so that no other boy soldier would be able to point it at anyone else. The gun was old and rusty, an outdated model, and Steve wondered that it hadn't blown up in the boy's face when he'd pulled the trigger.

Steve opened his eyes, forced deep breaths in and out through his nose as he reoriented himself to Oahu, home, the hallway three and a half feet away from the laundry room, ten feet from Danny who was hiding behind the dryer.

Hands shaky, he looked at them, saw blood, thick and red, could feel it like ants walking across his skin. He'd been covered in red ants once when he'd sat on a hill. Pesky little things that had bitten him all over, and made him sick for days afterward. His mother had covered his inflamed skin in a white paste that had been cool and soothing.

Steve pushed the lids down tight on the boxes that had opened, forced the memories from his mind, breathed, and counted to ten as he waited for the memory of blood and ants to disappear from his hands.

He could hear Danny in the laundry room. Could hear the little boy trying to be quiet. Trying not to breathe too hard, and Steve wanted to go back in time and rip the gun from the boy's hands, stop the bullet from tearing through his friend's gut and burying itself deep into his spine, stop the knife, and death, the blood mixing with dirt to make mud out of what remained of a little boy's life. Wanted to undo what his hands had done.

Instead, more tired than he had any right to be after playing hide-and-go-seek with Danny for just over an hour, he called out in a hoarse voice the words that they'd agreed upon, "Alright, I give up. You can come out now, Danny."

Shaken, and desperately trying to get the spilled memories back into their boxes, and tamp the lids down on them, maybe wrap them in several layers of duct tape, Steve never heard Danny sneak up behind him. A moment of irrational panic stole over him as he pictured Danny dead.

"Danny?"

The little boy practically threw himself at the back of Steve's knees, and Steve had to brace himself against the wall. "Wha-"

"IdiditDa...UncleSteve," Danny muttered against the back of Steve's legs.

His words were muffled, and Steve had a sudden urge to see the boy for himself, and prove that Danny was alive, and whole, and not bleeding out on some lone desert floor, blood already clotting and drawing flies. Steve craned his head, and his heart settled in his chest as he saw the golden curls.

"You did good, Danny," Steve said, voice thick with emotion. Had Danny really almost called him Daddy? Steve filed that thought away for much, much later. For a time when he had a whiskey at hand, and a listening ear. Chin was good at setting Steve's head on straight.

Steve patted Danny's head, surprised that he meant the words, that it didn't matter that Danny hadn't been as stealthy as a SEAL, or as coldly efficient as that little boy who would have killed him without remorse all those years ago.

Danny's blue eyes shone with something that Steve was afraid to put a name to. It was something that he couldn't box up and keep safe from himself and others. Something that he couldn't dare mention to Chin just yet.

"I'm proud of you for being such a good hider, Danny." Steve's heart swelled with the truth of his words, and he was finally able to tamp down on the memory of the boy, the blood, and the buzzards circling overhead, dark specks in an otherwise blue sky.

The little boy blushed and buried his face in the back of Steve's knees, and Steve said, "You did good, Danny."

Steve heard an intake of breath, and his chest tightened, and he nearly toppled when Danny released the hold that he had on his legs. He turned and knelt in front of the boy who was biting his bottom lip, blue eyes clouded with worry and uncertainty, and said, a little unsure himself, "C'mere."

Danny practically flew into him, and Steve enveloped the little boy in his arms, held him close, breathed in the scent of sun and chocolate, and sugar cookies. He never wanted to let go, knew that he had to, and that in their next round of hide-and-go-seek, Steve would let Danny win. Not because it was fair, or because Steve was trying to build the boy's self-esteem, but because it felt right to end it like this, with Danny in his arms, pressed close, the feel of his heart beating, because he was alive and well, and, if Steve had anything to say about it, Danny would never touch a gun let alone aim it at someone.

 


	6. Father's Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny wants to do something special for Steve on Father's Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Father's Day today, so there may very well be errors in this. I apologize for them, and hope that no one is offended. This is set a little further down the line and skips ahead, but not much. It mentions events that have taken place, but that I've not yet posted. I'm in the process of writing one of these events, and have had the other one written for the longest time now. Hopefully I'll be up to posting that one soon. Remember, these are not necessarily going to be posted in sequential order, and this is one that isn't. This is written mostly in present tense, because that is how it came out. The waffling between Steve and dad is because it's still a little jumbled in Danny's head, and he's still a little unsure about everything.

Danny's been calling Steve, Dad, for awhile now. He can't remember when he'd first started doing it, but knows that it was after the time that he was kidnapped by the Hesse brothers.

He still has nightmares about that, and nightmares about the dark time before he knew that Steve was his real father. Nightmares that always end in fire and darkness. Nightmares that hadn't stopped just because he'd accidentally overheard his Aunt Deb and Steve arguing about 'the truth', and how Danny had a right to know that Steve was his dad, and not an 'uncle' who was taking care of him after his family's death.

At the time he'd hidden behind the washer and dryer, clutching the bear that he'd gotten from Auntie Kono to his chest, and had buried his face in its soft fur to hide the ragged sounds of his breathing. Hadn't Steve wanted Danny to know the truth? Wasn't Danny good enough to be his son?

It's all jumbled up in his head, though, like the memories of the family that Danny used to know. The people that he used to call Ma and Pa are now nothing but pictures in a photo album that he'd gotten many Christmases ago.

He'd had a brother, too, but Danny can't even picture little Matty anymore. Can't remember the sound of his mother's voice, or the words to the songs that she used to sing to him when he was sick, or sad, or scared. Can't remember the sound of his other father's laughter, though he remembers that he used to laugh, and tell Danny stories, and hold him tight in a way that Steve hardly ever does.

Most of the time it all seems like something that Danny's made up - a family with a mom, dad, and little brother - because he misses his real dad when he's away on business trips, coming back tired, and sometimes hurt. And Danny doesn't understand that at all, how his dad can get hurt on a business trip, but he doesn't question it, because he knows that he's not going to get any answers if he does. He's tried, and Steve-dad, just tells him not to worry, or changes the topic, or pretends not to hear the question, or just hands Danny a present, and smiles at him, like he's still six years old, and not nine, going on ten.

The most recent time, Steve had returned from his business trip looking like a zombie. He'd slept for days, and Danny'd been worried about him, but he'd gone to school and returned home, got his own breakfast, made his own lunch, and dinner, did his homework, and tried not to be angry-worried-hurt-sad by his father's lack of interest in him. It wasn't personal. At least that's what his auntie had told him. He didn't really understood what that meant, though. How wasn't it personal?

When Steve had returned to the land of the living, his father had handed Danny a box wrapped in brown paper that had been held together with string. A peace offering. A gift - a stone statue of Buddha that he'd gotten in Thailand - from business trip number 89 of the year.

Danny had taken to counting them, and he wonders if his father will break last year's record of 116 business trips. He hopes not, because, even though his dad doesn't laugh as much, or tell him stories like the dad Danny kind of sort of remembers from when he was really little, Danny still misses him when he's gone, and feels safer when he's around.

His dad's been home for a few weeks into Danny's summer, which is really rather remarkable, because normally he's not, and Danny's stuck staying with Aunt Deb, or Uncle Lou's wife and their kids until Steve, and his partners (Auntie Kono, Uncle Chin, Uncle Lou), return from their business trip. And, though Danny's chest is tight with memories that disappear like sand slipping through his fingers, he really wants to do something special for his dad on Father's Day. Something that will show Steve that Danny loves him, and misses him when he's gone.

Auntie Deb had taken him shopping, and he'd gotten his dad an aloha shirt, and a pair of board shorts, but that's not enough. It's not enough, because although his dad is gone, a lot, on business trips, he's still the one who holds Danny after nightmares, and assures him that everything is alright. He's the one who looks under the bed for monsters, and chases them out of the closet. He's the one who taught Danny how to surf, and how not to be afraid of the ocean, how to stun a shark if he needed to. So far, he hasn't, but he knows how, thanks to his dad.

And even though he knows that his dad doesn't like glitter, and that he doesn't like messes, Danny gets out his art supplies (a gift from Auntie Deb) and starts to work on making his dad a Father's Day poster to show him how much he loves him. He's as careful as he can be with the glitter and glue, and he takes his time forming the letters of the words, making them fancy, and concentrates on the spelling, because he's not so great at spelling. He'd gotten a B in English this year, and that was mostly because of spelling. His teacher had praised his big imagination.

He asks for his aunties' and uncles'help in finding pictures of his dad when he was younger, and of other things (like sharks, and Navy stuff), and Uncle Chin helps him with printing out pictures that he's taken on his phone (something he's had, again, since the Hesse brothers kidnapped him, which seems like a really long time ago, but also seems like it happened just the other day).

Danny works on the poster everyday for a solid week, and he's still not happy with the lettering, because his S's look a little sloppy, and there's a splotch of glue in one corner of the poster board, and he'd accidentally chopped off his dad's arm in one of the pictures (the arm with the tattoo that goes from his elbow down to his wrist - an important arm), and it's not perfect, like his dad is, even with all of his absences.

When Father's Day rolls around, Danny almost trashes the poster board, because some of the glitter had gotten smudged onto some of the pictures, and some of the markers had bled, making his letters look blotchy in places. It's not, he determines, his best work, even though he had put all of his heart into it.

He gets up earlier than usual, before his dad gets up, so that he can make breakfast. Auntie Deb had helped with the preparations the day before, when his dad had been called into an emergency at work. He gets the pre-cooked bacon, the waffles that have been made into squares so he can put them in the toaster to heat them up, the butter and syrup, and at the last minute remembers that there are strawberries and blueberries to set out, too.

Danny hums to himself as he works on his dad's Father's Day breakfast, and remembers doing something like this with the woman he'd known as his mother when he'd been really little. She'd let Danny put everything on the plate and helped him carry it into his other father. He'd had to be very careful so that he didn't spill anything. Carrying the orange juice had been the hardest, and some of it had sloshed over the edge of the glass, but it was easy to clean up. He can remember how excited he'd been at the time.

Now Danny just feels nervous, wondering if he'll get something wrong, and make his dad mad, especially since he's thinking of his other father. The man, who, according to his dad, had adopted Danny when he was just a baby, before Steve had known about Danny.

It's confusing, and Danny doesn't like to think about that, so he doesn't. He concentrates on heating the food up, and putting it onto the plate in a way that he's seen it done on TV, taking pains to make sure that nothing is touching, because Danny hates it when any of his food is touching, and he thinks that his dad's the same way. That, maybe he even got that trait (a word he'd learned in school this year) from his dad. A trait that liked things to be neat and orderly, and that did not like when bacon was touching waffles, or when syrup dripped off into the fruit.

Danny takes a deep breath, plate in one hand, and a cup of juice in his other hand, as he heads up the stairs to his father's room. He has the poster and the presents he'd wrapped, sitting on the floor outside of the room, and using his shoulder, he pushes into the room, thankful that his dad always keeps it open a few inches - just in case. That, too, hadn't happened until after the kidnapping. Danny doesn't like to think about that either.

His dad's still sleeping, and for a few seconds, Danny stands just inside of the door and watches, waiting, because he knows that his dad will detect a change in the room. He'll hear Danny breathing, or hear a board creek, or sense Danny's presence in the room. And though Danny has no idea how the man can do it, he hopes that, one day, he'll be able to do the same thing, because, even though it's kind of creepy, it's also kind of cool.

Danny doesn't have to wait very long before his dad's breath catches, and he blinks his eyes open, hand reaching for something black beneath his pillow, though, upon seeing Danny, he instantly tucks it back under the pillow, hiding it from Danny's view, and sits up, rubbing at his eyes. Danny stifles a giggle at his father's messy hair, and walks into the room with hesitant steps, suddenly fearful that his dad is going to hate this, maybe hate him.

"Danny?" His dad's voice is rough from sleep, and he scratches at the stubble on his face, stifles a yawn.

It feels like his dad's bed is a million miles away, and Danny's afraid that he's going to trip on the rug and spill everything all over the place, but he doesn't, and he makes it to his father's side without spilling even a drop of the juice, and without jostling the food on the plate. Though a blueberry does run into one of the waffles, it bounces off, and back into its place next to a strawberry. He doesn't mind mixing fruit.

"Happy Father's Day," Danny says, holding the plate of food, and cup of juice out to the man who has raised him for the past three years, the man who took him in after his adopted family died, the man who saved him from the kidnappers. It's not enough, and Danny knows it.

His dad gives him a look that Danny doesn't understand, and Danny almost drops the plate and the cup of juice, his chest feels tight, and it's hard to breathe, and he thinks that this was all a big mistake, and that he's gotten it wrong. He almost turns and runs out of the door, but then his dad is reaching for the plate and the cup, and placing both on the beside table, and drawing Danny up onto his lap, and hugging him close.

"Thank you, Danny," he says into Danny's hair, and Danny feels warm and tingly, and like an invisible band has been loosened from around his chest and he can breathe again. "This...you didn't have to do this for me."

"I love you, dad," Danny says, testing out the words, because he's never said them before now. He's been afraid to, because he remembers saying those words to his other dad, and his other dad is gone. Dead. And Danny doesn't want Steve to die. It hurts too much.

His dad's breath stops and starts, and then he's crushing Danny close, and Danny isn't sure why. He feels the press of lips against the top of his head, and hugs his dad back just as tight, worried that he's said something wrong.

"I love you, too." The words are so soft that, if Danny wasn't pressed close to his father, he would never have heard them. "Oh, God, I think...I think I...I love you."

It's the first time that Danny's heard those words from Steve, and they make his stomach feel funny, but in a good way, and he doesn't want to let his dad go, but he does anyway, because breakfast is getting cold, and waffles and bacon taste like junk when they're cold.

When Steve lets go of him and starts eating his breakfast, Danny rushes out of the room to gather up the Father's Day presents, and bring them in. He sits on the edge of the bed, his heart swelling with happiness at the reception that his food is getting, feet swinging as he waits.

"This is really good, Danny."

"Auntie Deb helped," Danny admits.

He needs to be honest, that's something that he'd learned from his first dad, and it's something that he's never forgotten, or let go of, because it was important to his first dad, and it is important to Danny. It's a way to honor the man, even though he can no longer remember what he looked like without the help of the photo album he has tucked away under one of his pillows. He doesn't want Steve to think that he did all of the work on his own when he didn't. That wouldn't be fair to Auntie Deb, and it wouldn't be right either.

_Give credit where credit is due. Do the right thing, son, and you won't have to answer to anyone, and you'll be able to sleep at night._

Though Danny can't remember his father's voice without mixing Steve's into it, he can remember the words, and they make him smile, because he thinks that, if he follows them, then maybe his first father is looking down on him from heaven, and maybe he's even proud of Danny when he does the right thing, and when he tells the truth, no matter how scary it might be. Like the time he'd had to tell the principal, Mrs. Aoki, that it was him who'd shoved Ben during recess, and not Kento, though Kento had been willing to take the blame for it.

Ben had been bullying both of them, and Danny'd had enough. When the other boy had said something about how Danny looked nothing like his father, and that Danny was a bastard, Danny had snapped. Kento had taken the blame, but Danny'd known that it was wrong, and his first father's words had come to him as though from a ghost, and he'd told the truth. He'd felt better, even though it meant that he was grounded from his favorite things for a week, and that he was suspended from school (again) for fighting.

"Well, it's delicious." His dad licks his lips, and smiles, and Danny can see the lines around his mouth clearly.

Danny shrugs and kicks his legs, fingers the edge of the poster board. He takes a bite of waffle when his dad offers it to him, and tries not to worry about what his dad will think of the poster and the presents.

"What's wrong?"

Danny shrugs, takes a bite of the bacon that his dad gives him, and clutches the wrapped gift a little too tight. His fingers break through the wrapping, and he feels the tightness building up in his chest again. The therapist that he'd had to see after the Hesse brothers took him called it a panic attack, and had said that, even though it felt like Danny couldn't breathe, he really could, all he had to do was think about something happy and safe, and concentrate on that instead of the bad, dark stuff that scared him.

He isn't worried about the Hesse brothers right now, though. They're dead. Steve, his dad, had told him that they were, and, in spite of his nightmares, and his imagination playing tricks on him sometimes, he believes him.

He doesn't understand why he's fighting off a panic attack now, and he doesn't want to have to go back to see Dr. Max again, because he's not a baby anymore, and he remembers what the doctor taught him, it's just that sometimes it's hard to focus on something happy and safe when he's scared, or stuck in a too tight space, or like now, when he's worried.

"Danny?"

Chest too tight to breathe, and vision blurring at the edges, Danny shoves the present into his dad's chest. His heart is thundering. It's all that he can hear, and his dad's giving him a funny look, a face that reminds Danny of the time that he crashed his bike, and had to go to the hospital.

Eyes searching Danny's, Steve places the empty plate onto the bedside table and opens the present, smile lighting his face as he shakes out the aloha shirt and the board shorts. Both are brightly colored, but not like what the tourists wear. They're fine for days when his dad can stay at home with Danny.

"They're perfect," his dad says, and Danny draws in a shuddering breath, and forces a smile.

"Auntie Deb helped me pick them out," he says, and he's barely able to hear his own voice over the pounding of his heart as Steve, his dad, reaches for the poster, gently tugging it from Danny's hands.

Danny bites his lip, and clasps his hands together so hard that he can feel the nails biting into his palms. He counts to ten, and then twenty, holds his breath, just a little, because sometimes that helps, but it's not until he feels a hand on his knee, and looks up to see that his dad is smiling at him, that the hammering in his chest starts to slow, and he feels like he can breathe again.

"This is amazing, Danny," Steve, his dad, says. "Did you do this on your own?"

Danny nods, and then catches himself. "I had help with finding the pictures, and I spilled some of the glue and there's -"

"It's perfect," Steve says, cutting off Danny's attempt to apologize. "Thank you. You didn't have to do all of this for me."

Danny shrugs a shoulder, and looks at his hands. "I wanted to, because...because you're my dad, and I love you, and you make me feel safe and I miss you when you're gone, but I know that you'll always come back, because you say you will, and you never lie."

That had been important to Danny's first dad, too, not lying, and it's important to him, and it's important to Steve, which is why Danny tries really hard to always tell the truth, even if it gets him into trouble.

_You'll always get caught in a lie, son._

Danny hears the words in a voice that's a blend of both of his fathers. One ghosting right over the other, and he takes a shaky breath, leans against his dad when Steve pulls him close, rests his head against the man's chest, and breathes.


	7. Responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny gets hurt; Steve rethinks his priorities in life. (occurs a couple of years before the last installment)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been written for ages, and I have been debating about when to post it forever now. It should answer at least one of the questions raised by the previous chapter (how Steve could possibly be Danny's father - he isn't). I hope that it is enjoyable. It's got angst, hurt/comfort. The next offering will be pure fluff as I work on Danny's second kidnapping. Thanks for reading this ages ago, Swifters.

Steve is not a complicated man, and, up until several months ago, he'd led a fairly uncomplicated life. He liked his job, enjoyed spending time with his girlfriend, whenever they were both free, but most of all, he loved not having any real responsibilities.

Now, though, he's responsible for the well-being of a kid who'd just turned seven. A kid who's lost his entire family to a fire. A kid that he, Kono and Chin had been hired to kidnap. A kid that he probably should have sold to Wo Fat as he'd initially planned, because, as Steve's learned over the past nine plus months, kids complicate life.

Steve pulls a dish from the sink he's designated for rinsing, and towels it dry. It's one of Danny's. Captain America stares up at him from the bottom of the plastic plate, there's a grim smile on the superhero's face, and he's clutching his red, white and blue shield with determination. Steve can relate. Sighing, he puts the plate in the cupboard that he's come to think of as Danny's. Captain America joins the other superheroes in Danny's cupboard, sharing space with Batman, Superman, and the Flash, among others.

Danny's outside, riding the bike Chin bought him for his birthday a couple of months ago. The kid is a quick learner, something that had filled Steve with pride when he'd told his team about how quickly Danny had taken to riding his bike, not needing training wheels at all. He'd scrolled through the dozens of pictures on his phone that had captured each moment of the experience, and tried to conjure up a memory of sharing a similar experience with his own father, and failed.

He can hear Danny playing outside. Danny's pretending that his bike is a horse, and he's announcing each leg of the imaginary race that he's in. Steve shakes his head, wondering why, when Danny's calling all of the shots, the little boy doesn't make himself the lead horse, it's what he would do. Instead, Danny's in third place, and, according to 'announcer Danny', he's being outstripped by a fourth horse. If things keep going the way that they are, Danny will be coming in dead last.

Kids are complicated. They're messy and emotional. They get cranky, and unreasonable when they're tired. According to Kono's mother, they need to be kept on a consistent schedule, fed and bathed on a regular basis, and Steve's discovered that they sometimes need to be reminded to go to the bathroom, and that when they say they aren't tired, it really means that they _are_ tired.

At least that's what he's discovered in the case of Danny who has more energy than Steve thinks any normal seven year old _should_ have. Now that he's not doped up on drugs, Danny's a whirlwind of activity and quickly flowing words, and he seems to have a very well-ingrained sense of right and wrong, but no sense of self-preservation, always going headlong into anything that he sets his mind to doing. And he's stubborn to a fault, unwilling to back down when he's got it in his head to do something. Like racing his bike against imaginary adversaries.

It's maddening at times, and Steve wonders how he's going to survive over a decade of this, because the boy seems to fight him at every turn, becoming stubborn and shoving his moral code in Steve's face in a way that borders on disrespect. His own father would have taken a hand to his backside if Steve had questioned him like Danny sees fit to question everything that Steve does from the way the laundry is folded ( _that's not how you fold towels, Uncle Steve,_ _ **this**_ _is how you fold towels_ ), to the proper way to handle a scraped knee ( _Didn't your mommy ever kiss one of your boo-boos before?_ ), never mind the fact that Steve is a trained medic, having served his country as a Navy SEAL for almost ten years before he'd retired, and decided to do something for himself, instead of his country.

Steve concentrates on a stubborn spot on the casserole dish that Chin's fiancé, Malia, had brought over for dinner the other night, scrubbing at it with a fervor that he normally reserves for cleaning up bloodstains. At first he doesn't realize what it is that draws his eyes to the window above the sink, seeking out Danny, and frowning in relief when he sees the boy riding his bike to the top of the driveway's small incline.

Then it hits him. It's quiet. Danny's too far away for him to hear the child's voice announcing the details of the next race, or whatever it is that he's up to now.

Moments of peace and quiet are rare now that Danny is living with him, and, even though Danny's only been living with him for nine months and six and a half days, Steve knows, through experience bordering on the harrowing, that peace and quiet are not necessarily good things when there's a seven year old in the mix. Especially when that seven year old is Danny William Matthew McGarrett. Still, Steve takes a moment to revel in the peace, knowing that it won't last, because eventually Danny will tire of riding his new bike and come barreling into the house, destroying Steve's peace and quiet with a retelling of the races that he's won and lost. Provided that he actually allowed himself to win a race.

Wiping the final dish dry, and putting it into the appropriate cupboard, Steve folds the dishtowel and places it on the counter. Looking out of the kitchen window, his eyes are automatically drawn to Danny and the red bicycle.

It's an unguarded moment, and Danny looks happy, blue eyes sparkling, lips curved upward in a rare smile. For all that Danny talks, the boy rarely smiles. Steve allows himself a small smile in response, dreading what he's going to have to tell the little boy in the morning. He's got another job, and he'll be leaving Danny in the care of his Aunt Deb for the next two or three weeks.

The little boy loves Steve's Aunt Deb, and, though his aunt is skeptical about the story of how Danny came to be in his life ( _Steve's son from a one night stand; adopted as a son by the man she married; his family was recently killed in a fire - it's good to ground lies in a touch of truth_ ), she doesn't question it, or why Danny calls him Uncle Steve, instead of dad ( _it's easier on the boy who recently lost his mother_ ). She loves the little boy, too.

That's what Danny does to people, though. Worms his way into their hearts. Anyone that Danny meets inevitably winds up wrapped around his little finger. It's a wonder that the boy doesn't lord it over them. He could, and get away with it.

Steve's heart nearly jumps into his throat at the sight of Danny, riding his new bike at breakneck speeds down the gravel road that leads to his house, leg kicked out to the side in attempt to stop what Steve knows, instinctively, is going to be a spectacular crash.

He can see it coming before it happens, as though he's peeking into the future, and Steve can't move fast enough, even though everything seems to slow down, and his vision hones in on Danny as though he's suddenly developed tunnel vision, and Danny's the only thing left in the world. Danny and that damn red bike.

Danny's lips are pressed together in a thin line, and there's a look of determination in his blue eyes that Steve thinks should be fear, because, no matter what he does to forestall the inevitable, Danny's going to crash. Danny has both of his feet off of the pedals now, and the bike is bumping drunkenly down the road, jerking Danny's body around like he's a rag doll.

The bike, taking Danny with it, because the little boy refuses to jump off of it, is heading toward a rather large pothole that Steve has been meaning to fill in. Seeing it unfold, as though it's all happening in slow motion, unable to keep his eyes off of the little boy, and get his own feet moving, Steve's heart drops right down to his stomach, and he's shaking.

Steve finally comes to his senses, heart stopping and then pounding, blood rushing in his ears. Prying his eyes off of Danny and the runaway bike, though not seeing him is almost worse than watching everything happen in slow motion, he races to the door, wrenches it open, and runs out onto the driveway just as the out of control bike hits the pothole and sends Danny flying, head over heels, into the tree stump that Steve has also been meaning to take care of.

Steve's heart comes to a screeching halt as his legs, leaden with fear, because Danny is not moving, carry him the ten and a half steps to Danny. He's shaking, palms sweaty, and he flashes back to an op, seeing one of his teammates, hit by rounds from a machine gun, sprawled out before him, almost as Danny is now, eyes open and unseeing. Except Danny's eyes are closed, and the little boy is much too still in a way that Steve hasn't seen since the safe house where he'd kept the boy drugged after he'd kidnapped him.

Steve crashes to his knees beside the motionless boy, and his hands shake, fingers numb with a fear that he's never experienced before, even though he's watched friends die, held them in his arms as they've breathed their last. He presses his fingers to Danny's neck.

Vision blurry, Steve waits a heartbeat, two, and then sags with relief when he feels the boy's heartbeat thump, thump, thump, beneath his fingertips.

He wants to gather Danny up in his arms, and never let the boy out of his sight again, even for the split second that it had taken for this to happen, but he knows that he's got to check Danny's neck for injury. The fear is tangible. If Danny's lost the use of his legs, Steve doesn't think he'll ever forgive Chin for getting Danny the bike, or himself for letting Danny ride it. His fingers feel thick and clumsy, and Steve's heart is racing like Danny's imaginary horses were mere minutes ago.

There's a large, purple goose-egg forming on Danny's forehead where it had come into contact with the stump, and Steve has to close his eyes, force himself to take deep breaths in and out through his nose as he tries to clear the images of Danny flying through the air, hitting the stump with his forehead, and flipping over onto his back. It was almost graceful, in a way that sickens Steve.

"Uncle Steve?" Danny's voice, slurred like it had been when he'd been kept drugged, causes his eyes to snap open, and he pushes the boy back when Danny tries to sit up. He's not finished with his examination, needs to be sure that Danny's not in danger of paralysis, that the little boy hasn't broken his neck.

"It's okay, Danny, just stay still, okay?" Steve says, voice as shaky as his hands.

Danny frowns, but nods, and Steve holds his breath. Danny's eyes scrunch closed, and he presses a bloody hand to his forehead.

"I know your head hurts," Steve says. "But I need you to stay still so that I can make sure you're okay. That you don't have any broken bones."

"Okay, Uncle Steve." Danny's voice is small, and filled with pain, but the trust that he places in Steve at that moment twists at Steve's heart, makes him want to be a better man.

A cursory exam of Danny's neck reveals no broken bones, but the swelling of the lump in Danny's forehead is concerning, and though he'd only lost consciousness for less than a minute, Steve realizes that a visit to the hospital is unavoidable. He just hopes that the insurance papers, and the birth certificate that the team's document man, Toast, has drawn up for Danny will hold up under scrutiny.

The man has never failed them before, and hadn't even batted an eyelash when Steve had ordered a passport, birth certificate changing Danny's name and birth parents as well as birth date, social security number, and insurance papers for the boy. There is no question that Toast is good at what he does, but there is always a first for everything, including failure, and Steve doesn't want that to be the case with Danny's paperwork. As much as the little boy has complicated his life since coming into it, Steve doesn't want to lose him.

"Okay, Danny, I'm going to pick you up now. You've got to tell me if anything hurts, okay?" Steve knows there are no broken bones, and, surprisingly, Danny's got very few scrapes, aside from those on his hands, but his left ankle and right wrist might be sprained. They're both swollen and discolored. Steve isn't taking any chances.

"'Kay." Danny lifts his arms, trusting, and Steve is humbled by the action. The absolute trust. He doesn't deserve it after what he's put the boy through. Not that he'll ever admit that to Danny and risk losing the boy completely.

Danny whimpers. "My tummy feels funny."

"Anything else hurt?" Steve's got Danny cradled to his chest, mindful of the injured wrist and ankle. The boy's breathing speeds up, and he curls in Steve's arms and vomits down the front of Steve's shirt.

Face crumpling, Danny starts to cry, and Steve's stomach clenches with worry, legs propelling him toward his truck. Danny hasn't cried since that time, just after he'd been kidnapped, when Steve had told him to stop crying, and that other time close to Christmas, when he'd told him that it doesn't snow in Hawaii. It's a heartrending sound, the soft, pain-filled whimpers and moans.

Danny clutches at Steve, buries his face into the vomit-covered shirt, and quietly sobs, body trembling.

"My head hurts." The words are muffled by Steve's shirt.

Danny refuses to let go of him when they reach the truck, and, frantic with worry, because Danny's not a clingy child, Steve pushes the seat as far back as it will go and slides behind the wheel with Danny still plastered to the front of him. It's not an ideal way to travel, and Steve breaks just about every traffic rule that there is, but he makes it to the hospital in record time and has Danny ensconced in an emergency exam room within seconds of arriving (without having to pull his gun).

Danny still has a tenacious hold on him, the fingers of his uninjured hand refusing to uncurl from the front of Steve's shirt. Danny looks much too pale in the bright hospital lights, and his breathing is hitched and broken, and Steve's heart is pumping so hard and fast that it's hard to hear the intern's questions above the hammering of it, but he must've answered them, because the intern is smiling and nodding and laying a comforting hand on his shoulder, Danny's back, and her mouth is moving at a steady pace.

Other hospital personnel are moving around them, like so many buzzing bees, checking Danny's, and Steve's, vitals, finally coaxing and prizing Danny from the front of his shirt, and cleaning the boy up, wheeling him through double-doors that lead to an x-ray machine, and then a CAT scan. Danny's fear, and discomfort are tangible entities that punch Steve in the stomach, leaving him winded, and pulling at his heart as though it's stringed, and he's a useless puppet.

Steve doesn't remember calling Chin and Kono, but they come, arriving just as Danny's being admitted to the hospital for the night, his wrist and ankle splinted, the long scrape down Danny's left leg, and his hands, cleaned and bandaged.

"He's got a concussion," Steve says, fingers threaded through those of Danny's left, uninjured hand. "Grade two, maybe three."

He doesn't allow himself to feel the relief that he knows he should at the news that there is no bleeding in Danny's brain, that, over time the little boy will make a full recovery, but, in the meantime, Steve's got to watch for signs that Danny's condition is worsening, and be mindful that his son (that's what the doctor who'd admitted Danny called him, and, though he knows that's what Danny's paperwork says, it still hits him like a mack truck) will be exhibiting symptoms of his concussion, possibly months from now. Danny hadn't appeared to be amnesiac, but it's still too early to tell if he has suffered any permanent brain damage. Steve refuses to let his mind go there, though. Not yet. Not ever.

"Steve, he's going to be alright," Kono says, squeezing his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Yeah, brah," Chin adds softly, eyes glued to the little boy lying so uncharacteristically still on the hospital bed. "He's a strong kid. He's going to be fine."

Steve's jaw clenches, and he has to take several deep breaths in and out through his nose to keep from turning around and punching Chin in the face and giving him a concussion, too. He knows that it's irrational to blame the man for Danny's accident, that it wasn't the bike that had caused it, but seeing Danny so still and pale, the large, purple, almost black, lump taking up most of the space on his forehead causes reason to fly out the window.

Chin must sense some of what's going on in Steve's mind, because he takes a step back. Tossing a clean tee-shirt in Steve's direction, he says something about going to find Malia before disappearing from the room, taking a tension Steve hadn't realized was there with him when he leaves. Steve breathes a little easier, and he imagines that Danny does too.

He glares at the tee-shirt when Kono pushes it at him. "You smell like puke, boss," she says, quirking an eyebrow, and crinkling her nose. "Go on, get cleaned up. I'll watch Danny while you're in the bathroom." She slips her hand beside Steve's, and nudges him.

Reluctantly, Steve lets her take Danny's hand, and, clutching the clean shirt in a fist, he walks quickly to the bathroom and tosses his dirty shirt into the garbage. He's got others to replace it. Doesn't need the visual reminder of Danny's accident.

The shirt Chin brought for him is the color of Danny's eyes, a soft, summer-sky blue, and it slides like silk through his fingers. It's not one of his, but it fits snug across his chest, brings out the blue in his own eyes, which are bloodshot and dry, hollow when they stare back at him in the mirror.

He's looking at a stranger's image, and closes his eyes, splashes cold water on his face, hoping to regain some control over all of this, at least in himself, because he's no longer the same person he was just a few short hours ago. And that is all thanks to one seven year old kid, who, by all rights shouldn't hold so much power over him.

Steve presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He can feel the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind the closed lids. He can't remember ever being this tired, ever caring this much about someone other than his little sister, who he hasn't seen in too many years to count. He hasn't even known Danny for a full year yet. He shouldn't care this much. It's not logical.

Gripping the edge of the sink, Steve gives his mirror image a hard, assessing stare, and finds nothing to account for any of what he's feeling right now. For a man who kills people for a living, he has a hard time understanding how one accident can leave him looking and feeling so haggard and shaken.

Danny hadn't even died, but for a split second Steve thought that he had, and in that split second of time, it hadn't been that little boy's life that flashed through his eyes, but his own, through Danny's eyes, and what he'd seen had left him wanting. Wanting something that Steve knows he doesn't deserve to have. Not after everything that he'd done, that he's going to do.

Steve closes his eyes, effectively cutting off the rare moment of self-reflection. Taking a deep breath, he opens his eyes again, and pushes away from the sink, away from his reflection, and leaves the bathroom, usurping Kono's place beside Danny, taking the boy's hand. It's warm, the pulse steady, and Steve takes a deep, cleansing breath, pushing his whirling emotions back where they belong, and not at the forefront of his mind.

A nurse will come to wake Danny and check on him in another hour. Steve won't leave his side until the boy's discharged, won't take the job that would take him away from the boy for a couple of weeks, even though he trusts his Aunt Deb, knows that she is well versed with the signs of a concussion worsening. After all, she'd taken care of him when he was a kid. Still, it doesn't feel right leaving Danny with her when the boy's injured. It'll cost him, but Steve figures that it's worth the cost.

The job is time sensitive and can't be postponed; the mark is only in the right place, at the right time, for a brief window of opportunity. His client will have to find another mercenary for the job. Money will be lost. Steve, and his team's reputation will take a hit if he can't smooth things over with the snubbed client, but there are people that he can recommend for the job. Taylor. Grover. Weston. They all have good reputations. They're not as good as Steve and his team, but they can get the job done, and well, and maybe they'll even feel obliged to pay Steve back sometime. Favors owed are important in this line of work.

"I'm canceling the job," Steve says. Kono's grip on his shoulder tightens, and he can feel her nod.

"Kinda figured that, boss," she says. "You can't leave Danny now. It'll be okay."

"I was thinking of recommending Taylor or Weston for the job," Steve voices his thoughts aloud. Danny's hand twitches in his, and Steve's heart responds in kind, thundering as the boy's eyes start to move beneath the closed lids, and he starts to thrash weakly in the too-tight bed sheets.

"Grover might be a better fit," Kono says, and she lays a hand on one of Danny's knees, pats it gently. Steve doesn't notice the look she casts in his direction, because his eyes are focused on Danny, and his heart is making it impossible for him to understand the implications of his actions, and why his emotions won't stay where he's boxed them up.

Danny's mouth twists downward in a frown, and the little boy starts to shake his head, muttering words that Steve can't make out, other than, "no," and, "mom," and, "Uncle Steve," and, "hurts". He presses the nurse call button, and leans close to Danny, whispering words that he hopes are encouraging, words that will pull Danny from his nightmare. A nightmare of Steve's making.

Kidnapping Danny had been the worst-best thing he'd ever done, and there were consequences. Nightmares, like this, were one of them.

"It's okay, Danny," Steve soothes. "You're having a nightmare. It's time to wake up now. You're safe. You're not in that dark, scary place anymore. It's okay to wake up, Danny."

Malia and Chin walk in, followed by a nurse, just as Danny's eyes, wide with fear, open, and he bolts upright, wincing at the bright lights and the pain from the quick movement. He's trembling, gaze darting around the room in confusion until he locks eyes with Steve, and then he's practically launching himself at the mercenary, throwing his arms around Steve and holding on as though Steve's a great big teddy bear, or some kind of life preserver, refusing to let go, rather than the cold-blooded killer and kidnapper that he is.

It's hard to breathe, and Steve feels like the walls are slowly, but surely, closing in on him. He's never been hugged like this. Not that he can recall. It's alarming, and disconcerting, and Steve doesn't know what to do. It's almost as bad as seeing a woman, or a child cry, except somehow this is worse, because he doesn't know how to make Danny let go, and there's some secret part of him that doesn't _want_ to make Danny let go, because that part of him kind of _likes_ being hugged like he's a giant, harmless teddy bear.

"Hey, Danny, shh," Steve whispers into the little boy's ear. "It's okay. We're at the hospital. You're okay. You just have a nasty knock on the head, but you're going to be alright. Do you remember what happened?"

For several heart-stopping moments Danny just clings to him, and Steve runs various worst case scenarios through his head, wondering, again, if the wisest course of action wouldn't have been to sell Danny to Wo Fat and move on, because then he wouldn't have had to deal with any of this, and wouldn't be worried about Danny suffering permanent brain damage, because he'd been drying dishes while Danny had been riding a bike at a reckless speed down a driveway filled with deadly obstacles. Then Danny nods, and, though he doesn't let go of Steve, he shifts so that his face is no longer burrowed within the safety of Steve's stomach.

"I crashed my bike," Danny says, words coming out more hesitant than Steve thinks they should, though the nurse smiles, and holds three fingers up in front of Danny's face.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" she asks, and Danny sighs. Steve can picture the little boy rolling his eyes. Almost laughs. Would've if he could have assured himself that it wouldn't come out sounding like a sob.

"Three," Danny whispers, burying his face against Steve's side. The sudden shyness is a symptom of Danny's concussion, a sign that could indicate possible brain damage.

"Excellent, Danny. We're almost done here. I want you to grab onto my fingers here, and squeeze them as hard as you can. Can you do that for me?" she asks.

It takes awhile for Danny to loosen the vise-like grip that he's got on the back of Steve's shirt. He could've told the nurse that there's nothing wrong with Danny's reflexes, and that there's no sign of nerve damage, but he knows she needs to check this off her mental checklist before she can move on with the rest of her assessment.

"Great work, Danny. Now, can you tell me if you're in any pain?" the nurse asks.

Danny nods and sniffs as though he's trying hard not to cry.

"Can you point to a picture that shows how much pain you're in?" the nurse asks. "Be honest. It's okay, Danny. I want to make sure that you get the best help possible so that you can go home soon."

Steve can't see the picture card, can't see which image Danny points at, but he can feel the movement, the way Danny starts pointing at one picture, and then deviates to point at a different one when the nurse tells him to be honest. The kid's honest to a fault, except for when he's overtired or hurting.

"It's okay, Danny," Steve says, giving Danny permission to be honest, and he feels the little boy's arm move again, indicating something closer to the real amount of pain that he's in. At least that's what Steve hopes, because in addition to the concussion, long scrape along his side, sprained wrist and ankle, Danny's back and neck were wrenched in the tumble that he took. He'll bear the bruises for weeks to come, and be in a lot of pain as well.

"This should help take away some of that pain," the nurse says, and Steve watches her administer something to the IV line, catches Malia looking at Danny's chart, and ignores the murmur of discussion that's taking place between Chin and Kono in a corner of the room, as well as the looks that Chin keeps giving him every few seconds.

Once the nurse leaves, Malia lets Steve know that the course of treatment that Danny's getting is on par with his injuries, that she'll come by the house and check on him throughout the next few weeks once he's released, and then, kissing Chin, she lowers the bar on Danny's bed, allowing Steve to get more comfortable while holding Danny who still hasn't released him, before she leaves the room to start her shift at the hospital.

An uncomfortable silence follows in her wake, and Danny lets Steve maneuver them so that he's lying down, spread out on top of Steve, good hand tucked beneath Steve's arm. It's not as awkward as Steve thinks it should be, and he knows that Danny's current bout of clinginess is only due to his injury, that, once he's home, and feeling more himself, everything will go back to normal. Well, as normal as life with a seven year old can be.

Chin waits until Danny's sleeping, soft snores muffled by Steve's shirt, before he brings up the job.

"I understand why you want to pass on the job, Steve," he says, hesitant, gaze snapping to Danny when the little boy makes a snuffling sound and snuggles deeper against Steve's side. He looks like he's plastered to Steve, and Chin gives the pair the briefest of smiles, before his gaze finds Steve's once again, and the smile drops.

"I do understand, really, but do you think -"

"Grover can handle it," Steve says, cutting Chin off before he can go where he knows he's going. "We'll take the next job."

"And what if -"

"Don't go there, Chin," Steve says, keeping his voice low so that he doesn't wake Danny who, in spite of that, stirs, face scrunching, and then smoothing out when Steve rubs the arm that's draped across his chest. "We'll take the next job."

"Fine, I won't go there, today," Chin says, holding his hands out up a placating manner. "But, Steve, we're going to have to go there. Soon. Things have changed, and we all need to talk about it."

Steve nods. He knows Chin is right. That he has as much at stake in the business as Steve does. Maybe more.

"Maybe we can take on a fourth person," Kono suggests quietly. She's standing at the window, looking out at the sunset, chewing on her thumbnail, one arm hugging her waist as though fearful of Steve's reaction. "You know, just until things settle?"

Feeling more defeated than he has in a long time, Steve takes a deep breath. Kono isn't entirely in the wrong. It's been something that they've all been talking about for the past couple of years. "Who do you have in mind?"

"Adam Noshimuri," Kono says the name with determination, turning from the window to stalk back toward the hospital bed and lean against it. "He's -"

"The son of Hiro Noshimuri, former head of the Yakuza here in the islands," Steve finishes, disgust tainting his words. "We don't need that kind of help, Kono."

Kono leans forward, body taut, knuckles white. "He's got connections, boss. To weapons, and people, and -"

"The answer is, no," Steve says, speaking a little too loudly and causing Danny to startle. The little boy blinks up at him, mouth working out words that have no sound before his eyes slip closed and he burrows his face against Steve's chest, sighing and relaxing back to sleep.

"I'm with Steve on this one," Chin says. "Working with Noshimuri would open us up to scrutiny from the FBI and would open us up to new enemies, and leave us vulnerable. Son of the head of the Yakuza or not, the organization is not going to stick by him if he turns coat like that. We can't afford that kind of trouble."

Kono pushes away from the bed. "Fine, but we could really use a fourth. We've been talking about it for years, but every time a name is brought up, someone shoots it down."

"We've been doing fine, just the three of us," Steve says.

He understands the reasoning behind adding a fourth person, knows that, especially now, with Danny in the picture, he could use an extra body. It's practical, and good for business, but he finds it hard not to feel threatened by the suggestion. He likes Kono and Chin. The three of them work well together, adding a fourth member will change the team dynamics, and Steve's afraid that his leadership will be called into question now that he's got the responsibility of Danny, and not taking this job that they've spent the past few weeks preparing for is pushing things to a head for the team, for Steve.

"That's just it, boss," Kono says, passionate. "We're doing _fine_ , but not great. We could use someone who can take chances that you and Chin can't."

"Chin?" Steve frowns, and he studies the other man who isn't quite meeting his eyes.

"Malia's pregnant," he says. "It's still early, but we're moving in together, and she doesn't know about any of this. She thinks that I work for a travel agency, Hawaii 5-0."

At Steve's raised eyebrow, Chin gives him a sheepish look and runs a hand through his hair. "It's just a cover that I've been toying with since..." he gestures toward Danny and shrugs.

Kono bumps shoulders with her cousin. "Something tells me that you've been doing more than just toying with this idea."

Nodding, Chin admits, "I've been looking at some rental properties and travel licenses, the whole nine yards. I figure that with you having a pilot license, and Kono working toward getting hers, that, in a couple months' time we'll have a solid cover in place, and can stop -"

"Flying by the seat of our pants," Kono says with a snort that Steve echoes.

"In the past, it didn't matter if we had a home-base to operate from," Chin says, and there's fire in his eyes. It's clear to Steve that he's put a lot of thought into this, maybe even before Danny had come along.

"Now, it makes sense," Steve finishes, nodding. "We have people to protect."

"People to look forward to coming home to," Chin adds softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Let's do it," Steve says, Kono echoing the affirmative with a resounding, "Yes!" and fist pump into the air.

Danny mutters something in his sleep, lips smacking, but he doesn't wake, even though he does clutch Steve's shirt a little tighter. His blonde ringlets are mussed, just short of being unruly in their length, and Steve wonders if he should bring the boy to the barber for a haircut.

It doesn't hit him until after Kono and Chin have left for the night, and the nurse has come to check on Danny again (he's a little more alert, but grouchier than Steve's ever seen him), that his thoughts are drifting more and more toward Danny, that his easy acceptance of Chin's business proposal had less to do with being a sound idea (something they really should have done years ago) and more to do with the little boy stretched out on top of him, snoring softly, bony knee and elbow digging into Steve's side.

 


	8. Puppy Dog Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny swears that it followed him home from school. Taking in the squirming appearance of the thing, Steve highly doubts that, but it's hard to say, no, to his kid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this written for awhile, and forgot to post it. Part of me was waiting until I'd written more before posting this, and another part of me simply spaced it. This is pure fluff, especially when compared to the rest. Thanks for reading it a million years ago, Swifters. Sorry it took so long for me to post it. Irene Claire, this is being posted for you today, because you inquired after it. I am working on the Hesse brothers kidnapping of little Danny (it will not be light reading). I guess this could be considered the light before the storm, or the fluff before the major angst, and darkness...This is set a bit in the future, after Danny's been taken by the Hesse brothers, or maybe before. Time is fluid, and my understanding of the concept of time is awful at the best of times. I have to set timers as reminders so that I don't run over when teaching.

"Danny, we can't keep that _thing_." Steve avoided looking directly at his adopted (thanks to falsified paperwork) son who was holding what appeared to be a wriggling mass of black and tan fur that Steve assumed was a puppy, or a small woolly mammoth.

In the midst of all of the black and tan fur was a massive pink tongue that seemed to be everywhere at once - Danny's face, his arm, flicking out at Steve in an attempt to show him some of the love that it was showing Danny.

Whatever it was had the biggest, roundest belly that Steve had ever seen in his life, and massive feet that looked to be bigger than Danny's hands. It was an abomination, and Steve just knew that, with his luck, it would have fleas, or worms, or something worse.

"Danny," Steve said, voice pleading, still avoiding looking directly at the child, because he knew that if he did, in spite of his resolve not to keep the...thing (and he was pretty resolved) he'd cave.

There was a time when Steve could look a child in the eye and take away that child's favorite toy, blankie, candy, without feeling a damn thing no matter how much that child pleaded, or cried, or how wide their tear filled eyes got as they begged him to give it back, or not to hurt their mommy or daddy, or pet bunny, Fluffy. Hell, there was a time when he could break a child's neck without remorse.

Danny had ruined all of that. Now Steve's stomach did all kinds of funny, twisty things whenever he looked at Danny, and that was when Danny wasn't applying all of his innocent, yet charming and manipulative wiles on him.

He was a goner when Danny used the big, puppy dog eyes that welled up with tears, or when his bottom lip trembled, just slightly, as though he was on the verge of tears, or when his brow scrunched up, or when his face fell as though the mere thought of not getting what he wanted was painful.

If any of his colleagues were to see him now, refusing to look a kid in the eye, and leaning backward in an attempt to protect himself from the abnormally long tongue of the waggling mess that was dangling from Danny's arms, they'd think that he'd lost edge. Hell, they'd probably think that he lost his fucking mind. He'd be the laughing stock of the criminal world if anyone, other than Kono and his Aunt Deb, could see him now.

He crossed his arms over his chest, and schooled his features. He could do this. He'd faced down men who'd wanted to kill him, and had come out the victor. He'd been tortured for days, and hadn't caved. He'd made it through BUD/S and had gone into enemy territory and made it out alive. He could face a seven year old child with a puppy that was now whining pitifully, and put his foot down, and say, no. He could win this, and he would win this. It was a matter of pride now.

Steve looked at Danny, at the pitiful creature squirming in his arms, and his heart seemed to stop for a brief moment, consider the pathetic tableau that stood in his living room, and then melt. It was the oddest thing.

Steve hated puppies. Hated what they grew up into. Hated the mess and the disruption of routines and the fact that they needed someone to walk and brush and take care of them. Dogs were not independent. They needed people, needed routines of their own.

"It followed me home," Danny said, eyes big and innocent.

"Uh-huh." Steve wanted to ask why, if the puppy had followed Danny home, the creature was trying to set itself free from his arms. It was putting up a valiant fight, and Steve was impressed.

"It did," Danny insisted, brow furrowing.

Steve nodded. "We can't keep him." If he just kept saying the words over and over again, this would work. He just had to remain firm and resolved, and not look directly at Danny or the puppy in his arms.

"I was walking home from school, and I was passing the fence, you know the one by Uncle Larry's house? And he was stuck-"

"I thought you said that he followed you," Steve interrupted, quirking an eyebrow.

Danny nodded. "Yeah, I was getting to that. I set him free from the fence. He was wedged between the bottom of the fence and the dirt, he's got a cut by his back leg, see?" Danny hoisted the puppy around, and tried to raise him high enough for Steve to see the injury.

It was hard to see anything past all the fur and dirt, but Steve nodded anyway, and was rewarded with a triumphant smile from Danny and a pathetic whine from the puppy.

"And then, I guess maybe he was grateful or something, because he started following me. I tried to make him go home. I even picked him up and put him back where I'd found him, except not stuck in the fence, because that wouldn't be nice, but he just kept coming back." The story was told almost in a single breath, and Danny was winded afterward, eyes pleading with Steve to believe the story.

Steve would have, except for the fact that Danny hadn't gotten home any later than he usually did when he walked. If he'd really spent time wrangling with a fence, and returning the puppy to the scene of his entrapment, then he should have been home far later than Steve would have been comfortable with, and Steve would have gone looking for him.

He hadn't liked the idea of Danny walking to and from school in the first place, but there were other kids from the neighborhood that he walked with, and Aunt Deb had said that it was important for kids Danny's age to develop a sense of independence.

The school was only a few blocks away, and there were no major roads to cross, and Steve knew all of the neighbors. None of them were on any type of criminal registry, and a background search had revealed that the biggest crime (other than his own crimes) one of his neighbors had committed was shoplifting, and she'd been a teen at the time. She was seventy now. It helped that most of his neighbors were elderly, or couples with children Danny's age.

"I'll take care of him," Danny threw out.

The words sounded a little desperate to Steve, and he wondered if Danny, Meka and Kento had put their heads together to come up with this story, or if Danny had come up with all of this on his own. He knew that the three boys had become thick as thieves over the course of the school year, which Steve supposed was a good thing for Danny who'd been uprooted from his family and friends, and, according to the school counselor, was having a hard time adjusting. There'd been fights.

For awhile, Danny had come home with a black eye or a fat lip, and a look of righteous anger simmering in his eyes, at least once a week. At first, Steve had thought it best to let Danny fight his own battles, but that idea fled out the window the first time that Danny had come home and gone straight to his room and torn it apart in frenzied anger as he ranted about how unfair it was that his mother and father had died, and that he'd had to move to Hawaii, and that he was tired of being picked on just because he was a haole and short and he didn't talk right.

Thankfully a cooler head prevailed when Steve walked into the principal's office to have a 'chat' with the woman who ran the elementary school. He'd been blindsided by her friendly, polite, yet no-nonsense attitude as she'd cut to the chase and asked if he'd gotten Danny a grief counselor, and recommended that he have Danny see the school counselor on a regular basis.

She assured Steve that the school was tough on bullying, and that Danny, and the other boys who were getting into these altercations were receiving consequences for their actions, and that she thought it was also important to give them tools to deal with their anger. Hence counseling sessions, detentions which had the boys working together in activities like cleaning up the school grounds, and role playing activities - all of which Steve's Aunt Deb had agreed to when she'd been called. Listed as one of the emergency contacts, and given permission to act as guardian in Steve's absence, the principal had mostly dealt with her.

Steve often felt like he was playing catch up when it came to Danny's school experiences, but after Danny's outburst, Steve decided to be more involved. It wasn't easy, especially after he'd just returned from a job, and had missed weeks of Danny's schooling, and other aspects of the little boy's life that were important to him.

"I'll walk him, and feed him, and clean up after him," Danny promised. "Can I keep him, please?"

Danny didn't wheedle. He didn't whine. He didn't pout. But once he set his mind on something, he did not back down, and it was clear to Steve that the little boy was not going to back down on this, and if he wasn't careful, they'd have a real battle of the wills going on.

"Can't I keep him for a trial basis? A week, just to show you that I can do it? Please?" Danny wasn't looking at Steve, he'd buried his face into the puppy's fur and had hugged the wriggling creature closer to his body, as though fearful Steve would pluck it from his arms.

Shaking his head, knowing that he was going to regret this, and that there was at least one pair of shoes that he was going to have to bid adieu to in the future, Steve knelt before boy and dog. Danny raised his head, eyes hopeful. Steve held a finger up.

"There will be rules," he said. "And you have to promise that you will take care of him. We'll have to see if he belongs to someone first, and if that's the case, we will have to give him back, but," and Steve took a deep breath, trying not to smile at the look of excitement and the way that both boy and puppy seemed to tremble with suppressed energy. "But you can keep him."

Danny crowed, and the puppy nearly slipped free of his arms.

"On a trial basis," Steve added, voice firm.

Blue eyes mirrored his in their resolve, and, serious Danny nodded, and then he whooped with joy. The puppy finally slipped free of Danny's arms, and before Steve had a chance to stand, it was on him, pink tongue bathing him in kisses, and Danny was there, too, hugging him, and saying, "Thank you," and giggling when the puppy's tongue slipped into Steve's mouth and he sputtered, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

He'd been a Navy SEAL. He was a gun for hire. Puppy slobber, and a pint sized child would not be his undoing.

 


	9. Calm After the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve watches Danny as the little boy plays with his dog, and wonders when laughter will once again come freely, and when the boy will no longer be afraid to raise his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a vignette/teaser/drabble that takes place sometime after Danny's kidnapping by the Hesse brothers. I will be posting that five part story separately from this for those who want to skip those heavier parts of this series.

Steve watches Danny covertly through the kitchen doorway. The little boy's sitting in the middle of the living room, talking to his dog, Stitch.   
  
It appears to be a rather serious conversation if the look on Danny's face is anything to go by -- eyebrows drawn together, lips turned slightly downward.   
  
Danny's hands are moving as he speaks, and Stitch, for all that he's more puppy than dog, gives the appearance that he's listening, intently, to his young master speak.   
  
If he was Aunt Deb, or Kono, Steve would have his phone, or a camera, in his hand, and he'd be snapping off pictures of Danny and the dog. He isn't, though he's come a long way from where he'd been even a month ago with regard to his care for Danny, and taking on the mantle of parenthood.   
  
He smiles when Danny leans close and whispers something into Stitch's ear. The dog's tail thumps in response to whatever it is that Danny's said, and he licks the palm of Danny's hand, making the boy scrunch up his nose in disgust, Steve can almost hear the quiet, "EW," and wonders how long it will take for Danny to regain enough confidence to exclaim such things aloud again. It's been too long since Steve's heard Danny say anything in a voice louder than a whisper.   
  
If he had it to do over again, Steve would kill Victor and Anton Hesse long before Danny'd ever come into his life. But Steve can't dwell on the past, as Dr. Bergman says; he has to focus on the here and now, on moving forward, and letting Danny know that he's safe, and that it's okay for him to laugh, and smile, and use his voice as he used to. It's okay to be loud.  
  
Danny wipes his hand off on his jeans, and then he wraps his arms around Stitch, hugging the puppy tightly until Stitch starts to squirm, and lick Danny's face. Steve catches a rare smile on Danny's face from where he's leaning against the doorjamb, keeping watch over Danny and his dog. The boy's brows are no longer knit together, and Steve's fingers itch for the phone that he'd left on the kitchen counter, knowing that this moment won't last long enough for him to capture it so that he can look at it on the days when Danny doesn't smile.  
  
It's overwhelming, and yet, as Danny bends to kiss the dog's nose, giggling almost silently when Stitch's pink tongue curls over the end of his nose in response to the kiss, Steve knows that there's nowhere else he'd rather be than here, leaning against the jamb of the kitchen doorway, watching Danny playing with his dog.


	10. Welcome Home, Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's gone on yet another business trip, and Danny's making a welcome home card for him, hoping that it, and he, won't be rejected by the man he's started to think of as, dad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very fluffy, and slightly angsty. I apologize for errors, and extraneous fluff. This was inspired by a prompt from one of my Camp NaNoWriMo cabin mates, Klepto von Umbre, who gifted our cabin with the following prompt: There was a pile of scrap paper. Hopefully this doesn't disappoint...it is imperfect.

There was a pile of scrap paper of different sizes and colors in front of where Danny lay on his stomach in the living room. Danny kicked his legs and sighed as he twirled the marker between his fingers, tongue sticking out between his lips as he tried to think.

He wanted to get this just right, but had no idea where to begin. His Uncle Steve's favorite color was blue, Danny was certain of it, and there was plenty of blue scrap paper in the colorful pile, but there were all different kinds of blue, which was problematic.

Which blue would Uncle Steve like best?

Danny frowned in thought and blew at a stray lock of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. Frustrated, he pushed himself to his knees and crawled around to the other side of the pile and lay down again, kicking his feet out behind him and resting his chin on his arms crossed in front of him.

Uncle Steve was on a business trip (again, he seemed to go on a lot of them) and his Aunt Deb was watching Danny until Steve came home, which was supposed to be tomorrow.

Danny wanted to make Uncle Steve a welcome home card, but had no idea how to start. He wanted it to be perfect, to show Uncle Steve, whom he'd started to call, dad (at least in his head, and heart), that he'd missed him, and hopefully to get his Uncle Steve to want to stay home instead of go on another business trip.

Steve always came back with a hard, unhappy look on his face. Maybe if he knew just how happy Danny was to see him, Steve would be happier when he came home, and not leave again so soon. He'd gone on two business trips in a row this last time, and Danny'd barely gotten to see him.

'What's the point in having a dad, or an Uncle Steve, if he's never around?' Danny wondered with a sigh.

His stomach twisted unpleasantly with guilt at his thought, and Danny rolled onto his back. He should be thankful, not angry. Kento, his best friend, didn't have a dad, and there were other kids who didn't have dads, but Danny'd had, not just one dad, but had gotten a second one, even if Uncle Steve didn't know it yet.

He had nothing to complain about. Not really. Sure, he'd lost his first dad and missed him terribly almost every single day, but then Steve had found him, and he'd become Danny's other dad. His...after dad.

Danny studied the ceiling. There were cracks, small spidery like things, here and there across it. Some of the cracks even formed shapes, like kitty cat ears and what looked like a dolphin.

Bored, Danny flopped onto his belly and studied the pile of scrap paper with a critical eye, separating the blue pieces from the rest. Stitch was outside, on the lanai, every once in awhile, he let out a shrill, happy bark. Danny was a little sad that the dog was stuck outside, but his aunt had been right, if Stitch had been allowed to stay inside with Danny, all of the paper would be scattered everywhere. Danny giggled when he thought of what would happen if he'd kept Stitch inside with him, but then sobered quickly to the task at hand.

There were five pieces of blue paper, each a different shade and different size; the smallest looked like it had once been part of a larger piece of paper that had been torn into strips and was a light blue, like Uncle Chin's baby's blanket.

The baby hadn't even been born yet, but it had already gotten a blanket and loads of toys and other stuff. It seemed strange to Danny to give so many gifts to someone who hadn't even been born yet. He hoped that the baby, when it was born, appreciated everything it got, especially its mom and dad.

Danny turned the strip of light blue paper over and over in his hand, trying to see it from every possible angle, wondering what he could do with it. It was uneven, and the torn edges were rough. Danny placed it off to the side and studied a scrap of paper that was the color of the sky, bright and pretty. Maybe too pretty for a man like his dad who was tough and brave and hardly smiled, especially after returning from one of his business trips.

Danny cast the bright blue scrap of paper off to the side and studied another piece of paper that was cut in the shape of an almost triangle. It was dark, like the ocean on a cloudy day, and it reminded Danny of his new dad's eyes. Danny placed that paper next to the marker that he'd discarded when he'd switched positions and squinted at the remaining scraps of blue paper, weighing the merits of each in his mind before placing a navy blue piece of paper on top of the almost triangle blue paper, and the final piece of paper, the color of a pair of faded blue jeans on top of that.

Having chosen the blue papers he would use to make his welcome home card, Danny gathered the papers, and the marker, and made his way over to the coffee table which had been pushed off to the side. There was a layer of newspaper on the table (to keep it from getting messy) and Danny had all of his supplies laid out on top of the newspaper: glue, glitter, scissors, markers of almost every color (he'd lost the yellow one a week ago and hadn't been able to find it), mostly unbroken crayons, stickers, watercolor paints and colored pencils.

His Aunt Deb had helped him set up the table and gotten the scrap papers for him. She'd gone into the kitchen to make lunch and work on dinner, reminding Danny to clean up after himself when he was done, and that she was just a shout away should Danny need her help with anything.

Danny scrunched up his nose as he looked at the glitter. "Too girly," he said, dismissing it.

The watercolor paints would be too messy, and they probably wouldn't show up well on the dark blue paper that Danny was going to use for the base of his card (it was the biggest piece of paper and the only one that he could kind of fold into a card-like shape). Danny frowned as he cast the watercolors aside and regarded the rest of the materials that he had available.

The markers would work well, and he could maybe use the crayons too. The colored pencils would be useless, though.

Danny tilted his head to the side as he looked at what he had left to work with and smiled as a new idea popped into his head. One that he was sure his dad would like, because Danny knew that it was something that the man loved - the ocean and dolphins and sharks and boats.

Excited, Danny set to work on the welcome home card, grabbing other pieces of scrap paper from the pile that he'd dismissed earlier, and using the glitter he'd declared, too girly, a little too liberally.

The scissors and glue were instrumental, as were the crayons and markers. It was okay that he'd lost the yellow marker, because there was a bright yellow piece of scrap paper that Danny could use to represent the sun, and the red and orange markers made perfect rays of light for the sun, as well as a lovely smiley face.

"Danny, it's time for lunch," Aunt Deb called just as Danny was putting the finishing touches on his card.

All that was left was to write the words, Welcome Home, and, Dad, on the card, but he'd have to let the glue dry a little before he did that.

"Coming!" Danny called, and he sprinkled a little more glitter onto the card and then shook the excess off onto the newspaper a few seconds later before placing the card onto the center of the table and then racing into the kitchen. Making cards sure worked up an appetite.

"Wash your hands, young man," Aunt Deb said, pointing toward the bathroom, as Danny scrambled onto his seat at the table.

Sighing, stomach growling as the scent of the macaroni and cheese with hotdogs hit his nose, Danny jumped from the chair and raced into the bathroom. His hands were full of glitter, glue and marker, and even after washing, his hands had little blue sparkles in the cracks and all sorts of lines of red, orange, black and blue from the markers. It just wouldn't wash off, and Danny hoped that Aunt Deb would declare his hands clean enough so that he could eat. He was starving.

Danny climbed back into his seat at the kitchen, and turned over his hands for his aunt's inspection, holding his breath as she held each hand in her own and peered closely at both the palms and the backs of Danny's hands.

Danny bit his lower lip, and his stomach growled again. Smiling, Aunt Deb declared his hands, "Good enough," and Danny let out the breath that he'd been holding.

"Manners," Aunt Deb admonished when Danny stuffed too much food in his mouth at once and almost choked on it.

Ducking his head, Danny mumbled out an apology and tucked into his food at a slightly slower pace. There was haupia pudding with slices of apple banana for dessert, and a big glass of vitamin fortified almond milk to wash it all down with.

"How is your card coming along?" Aunt Deb asked when Danny'd slowed down enough to place his spoon on the table between bites.

Danny swallowed his bite of food, and took a sip of his milk before answering. His stomach fluttered a little and he looked at the tabletop. "It's almost done," he whispered. "I just need to write the words."

"That's great, Danny, I'm sure that Steve will like it," Aunt Deb said.

Danny bit his lip and nodded. He wasn't so sure. There was too much glitter. Steve, his dad, would probably hate it, might hate the words that Danny was going to write on it.

"He will," Aunt Deb said, voice firm with conviction, when Danny just shrugged. She placed a hand over his and squeezed. It was comforting and Danny raised his head.

"I am sure he'll love it, sweetheart. Now, finish your lunch and eat your dessert so you can finish that card of yours."

"He's coming home, tomorrow, right?" Danny asked. He didn't want to be a bother by asking that question over and over again, but he had to be sure.

Aunt Deb nodded and Danny finished his lunch. "He'll be home tomorrow," she said, tucking a wayward piece of hair behind Danny's ear.

Danny helped rinse his dishes and put them into the dishwasher, then he refreshed Stitch's water and food dish, making sure to give the dog some attention before he ran back into the living room to write out the words on his card, heart thumping loudly and almost painfully in his chest as he wrote.

When he was finished, Danny held the card up to the light and inspected it carefully. It was still a little wet from all of the glue that he'd used to stick the glitter on, and the smile that he'd drawn on the sun was a little lopsided. His letters weren't perfect (it was hard to make straight lines; his looked a little wobbly) and he wasn't sure if the letter D was going in the right direction, sometimes he got D and B backwards.

Frowning, Danny placed the card underneath the coffee table where it would be out of sight, and, with the help of his Aunt Deb, he cleaned up the mess he'd made (they had to vacuum the living room and wipe down the table, because there was glitter EVERYWHERE) and put everything away.

Afterwards, Aunt Deb helped Danny make an envelope for his card, which he kept hidden from his Aunt's eyes - he wasn't ready for anyone to see it just yet, and wasn't sure what Aunt Deb would think about him calling Uncle Steve, Dad.

What if Steve hated it? What if he didn't want Danny for a son? It would be too embarrassing if Aunt Deb knew about it beforehand and Danny was rejected.

Danny's stomach was a tangle of nerves. He barely touched his dinner - mashed potatoes with gravy, roasted chicken, steamed veggies, and a dish of cinnamon sugar apples for dessert - and couldn't seem to fall asleep, though he must have fallen asleep at some point, Stitch tucked close to his side, because before he knew it, it was morning, sun was streaming in through the slats in his blinds, and his aunt was getting him up for breakfast.

Danny almost couldn't eat, he was so nervous, but he did his best to eat as much of his oatmeal as he could, and then got ready for the day. Time seemed to drag. Danny went to the park and played with Kento and a couple of other neighborhood kids. He ate lunch, and took Stitch on a walk, and when he came home, his heart nearly stopped beating. Steve, his dad, was home. His truck was in the driveway.

Danny walked Stitch around to the back of the house, making sure that the gate was in place so that Stitch couldn't get out, and then he quietly entered the house. Now that Steve was home, though Danny'd been waiting for him to return for days, he wasn't sure that he wanted to see the man.

"Danny?" Steve poked his head into the living room that Danny was tiptoeing through. There was that hard look on his face - lines around his eyes and mouth - though the man was smiling. He looked tired, and Danny felt sad.

"You're back," Danny said in a whisper.

Steve smiled and rubbed a hand over his face. There was the start of a beard, and it looked like he had a bruise on his cheek.

Frowning, Danny approached Steve carefully, fingers reaching up to touch the bruise before he even realized what he was doing. Steve blinked at him, and the smile fell from his face.

"Are you okay?" Danny asked.

Steve nodded. "I'm fine, buddy. Missed you, though."

"I missed you, too," Danny said.

He let Steve pull him onto his lap and rested his head against the man's broad chest, listening to the steady thud, thud, thud of the man's heart, and relishing the nearness of his dad. Steve smelled like the ocean and something spicy, Danny breathed the scent in and closed his eyes. His dad was home, and Danny never wanted to let go of him.

"Danny, is everything alright?" Steve asked.

Danny nodded, and hugged Steve a little tighter. "I made you a card," he said.

"You did?" Steve sounded surprised and maybe even happy.

Danny's heart felt like it was going to hammer right out of his chest as he nodded. "I'll go get it for you. I wanted to give it to you right away, but you got home before I finished walking Stitch."

"Now's just fine," Steve said, running his fingers through Danny's hair and untangling a stubborn knot that his aunt hadn't been able to work loose that morning.

Reluctantly, Danny released his hold on Steve and went to get the card from where he'd hidden it, underneath his bed. His hands were shaking, and it was hard to breathe, but he handed the card to Steve, and watched, through his eyelashes, as Steve carefully opened the homemade envelope and pulled out the card.

Rooted to the spot, Danny watched, not daring to breathe, heart hammering, as Steve stared at the card, lips forming the words that Danny had painstakingly written on the inside, the tip of an index finger tracing over them. Steve blinked several times, and swallowed, and Danny wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.

"Danny, I -" Steve's eyes were misty and the hard lines of his face were softening, and he was still tracing the words that Danny had written on the card as he stared at Danny, lips quirking upward in a smile. "I don't know what to say."

"Well, you could hug the boy," Aunt Deb said, startling both of them, and causing Danny to jump just a little.

"Danny, I don't...that is you don't..." Steve started and stopped, and looked at Danny as though pleading.

Leaning against Steve's side, Danny started tracing the letters of the words he'd written right alongside Steve, quietly lamenting the fact that he had indeed written one of the D's in dad backwards.

"You don't have to if you don't want to," Danny said, voice trailing off into a husky whisper. "It's okay."

"Danny, I'd...I'd love nothing more than to be your dad," Steve said, voice thick. "But you don't have to -"

"I want to," Danny said, looking up at the man he'd come to think of as a dad and searching his eyes. They were a stormy blue, and filled with something that Danny didn't understand.

"I miss my first dad," Danny said, fingers stilled in their tracing by Steve's hand. "And sometimes I wish that I could see him again, but I'm happy to have you, and..." Danny bit his lip and traced a line on Steve's palm. "And I think that maybe he sent me you, you know, when he, when he died."

Danny blinked back tears, and leaned into Steve's touch when the man wiped away the tears that fell anyway. Steve pulled Danny back into his lap, carefully placing the card with its glittery waves and paper boat, dolphins, shark fins, and smiling sun, on the top of his desk as he did so.

Steve said nothing. He held Danny and stroked Danny's hair, and let Danny talk about how much he missed his dad, but he loved Steve and didn't want him to go away on such long business trips.

"I don't deserve you," Steve said when Danny had exhausted his words and his tears had died down. "God knows I don't, but," Steve's voice broke, and he squeezed Danny tight to his chest. "But I'd be honored to have you call me, dad. Don't feel like you have to, Danny. I couldn't ask that of you, but I won't pretend that it doesn't make me happy."

"Really?" Danny asked, hardly believing his ears. He could breathe again, and his heart stopped trying to beat its way out of his chest. He didn't understand what Steve meant by saying that he didn't deserve Danny, but that didn't matter, because Steve had said it was okay for Danny to call him dad, and even that it would make him happy, and that was all that mattered. He missed his first dad more than anything, but he'd been given Steve, not as a replacement for his dad (no one can replace someone else) but as someone else for Danny to love like a dad.

"Really," Steve said.

"I love you, dad," Danny whispered, trying the word out and holding his breath once more.

He didn't have to hold his breath long. "I love you, too, kiddo."

Danny settled on his dad's lap, happy to have him home.


	11. Midnight Intruder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something wakes Steve in the middle of the night. A blue-eyed intruder with a grip like an octopus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to write a scene with sick!Danny, because I've been thinking of that ever since it was suggested to me (an eon ago now), but this is what happened instead. It is short. Please forgive any errors. I hope that it is enjoyable.

_ It's dark. _ That's the first thought that enters Steve's mind. The second isn't much more helpful --  _ it's the middle of the night _ .

_ It's dark. _ Check.

_ It's the middle of the night.  _ Check.

_ Need sleep. _ Double check.

Semi alert, Steve listens for a few seconds, and hears nothing but the pounding of his own heart, and his own breath.

Steve blinks at the bedside alarm clock. It's three in the morning. He's only been asleep for maybe an hour, and up for almost seventy-two. His brain is just not registering what it is that woke him at dark o'clock in the morning, and what Danny refers to as Steve's, 'Spidey senses' aren't tingling.

Groaning, he rearranges his pillow and turns his back to the alarm clock, hoping that it won't be too hard to fall back to sleep. If whatever had woke him was something dangerous, like an intruder, he'd be more alert. As it is, he can barely keep his eyes open.

When Steve is just about to close his eyes and seek out the sleep that he's been denying himself for days, he nearly jumps out of his skin as he becomes aware of a pair of glassy blue eyes staring back at him.

At first, Steve thinks of his weapon, hidden beneath the mattress, and he twitches in reaction, but then his brain and racing heart catch up with what it is that his eyes are telegraphing to them. There is an intruder in his room, yes, but there's no immediate danger to his welfare.

Alert now, Steve sits up so quickly that his head spins, and the blue-eyed intruder crawls into his lap, and wraps him in a surprisingly strong grip, immobilizing him. Steve temporarily forgets how to breathe, and his brain short circuits, leaving him completely trapped and at the mercy of the intruder who is now plastered to his chest and digging a bony knee into his groin.

“Danny?” Steve ventures, and he subtly readjusts the little boy’s weight so that his knee is no longer digging into Steve’s groin. 

“Nightmare,” Danny mumbles, face hidden against Steve’s chest. He’s trembling, and overly warm and sticky. “Can I sleep with you, Dad?”

“Sure,” Steve says, fingers already working their way through Danny’s sweat matted hair as he wraps his other arm around the little boy and rasps out a song that he remembers his aunt singing to him once upon a time.


	12. Splitting Headaches, Wet Dogs, and Blanket Forts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's head feels like it's going to explode, Stitch is barking up a storm, and Danny's covered from head to toe in suds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly fluff. I have another story waiting in the wings, but thought that there needed to be some fluff before the chapter that has a little more angst in it.
> 
> Pardon any errors, please and thank you.

Steve has a splitting headache. He's been staring at the same two sentences in the paperwork Chin had sent to him several days ago for several minutes now, and can't seem to make heads or tails of it.

The sound of mad barking is the only warning that Steve gets before Stitch launches himself into the room, Danny on his heels.

"Daddy." Danny's voice is breathless, as he comes running into Steve's office. 

Skidding to an ungainly stop that sends him careening into the wall as he can't seem to get his four feet to work properly on the floor, Stitch leaves a trail of sudsy water across the hardwood floor. 

Steve blinks at the duo, and has to do a double-take to make sure that he's seeing what he thinks he's seeing. Danny is just as wet and sudsy as the dog who has, thankfully, stopped barking as it sits on the floor, long legs akimbo, tongue lolling. Stitch is as far away from Danny as he can get.

"What happened?" Steve asks, pinching the bridge of his nose, hoping that it will help ease some of the pain in his head.

"Um, I was giving Stitch a bath, and he kind of escaped," Danny says. He's inching his way toward the aforementioned escapee, who is jockeying for a position beneath Steve's chair, not that the overgrown puppy will fit there no matter how hard he tries.

"I see," Steve says, though he really doesn't, and his pounding head is making it difficult for him to follow this conversation.

"Can you help me?" Danny asks, tilting his head to the side and looking up at Steve through his long eyelashes. There are suds in his hair, on his chin, his nose, and elbows, and it looks like Danny was actually _ in  _ the tub, fully clothed, with Stitch, while attempting to bathe the animal.

Steve glances at the important paperwork that Chin is expecting him to complete within the next day or two, and the words blend together into squiggly black lines before his eyes, making his head throb and his vision swim.

"Stitch is slippery-er than I thought he'd be," Danny says, tilting his head even further to the side to better glimpse the escaped dog on the other side of Steve's chair.

"Danny, I..." Steve trails off when Danny's shoulders droop. The little boy looks at the floor, and his feet shuffle, and Steve is suddenly feeling like he deserves the shitty headache that he has.

Sighing, Steve puts the paperwork face down on his desk, and, in a move that he'd used countless times in his service with the SEALS, and on certain missions as a gun for hire, Steve twists and drops to the floor, and manages to capture a very unhappy, wet, wriggly dog. He hoists the squirming dog in his arms, thankful that he'd decided to wear one of his old tee-shirts and a pair of sweats today.

The dog stops struggling when it realizes that Steve isn't about to let it go, and it proceeds to make a high pitched whining sound that grates on Steve's eardrums and nerves, and makes his headache even worse. Then, when Steve starts moving toward the door, Danny in his wake, the thing has the audacity to lick his hand, and then his chin, and it wriggles until it can reach more of Steve's face to bathe it in a series of puppy kisses that make Steve grimace. It's a wonder that he does not drop the dog on the way to the very messy bathroom.

There is water everywhere, and the towels (Steve counts four of them) are soaked through. There doesn’t appear to be a dry spot in the bathroom, and Steve has to take several calming breaths before he can ask Danny to get some more dry towels from the linen closet.

Danny races from the room at a speed that is dizzying, and is back in record time, a stack of fluffy towels threatening to topple from his arms. Danny moves to place them on the floor.

"Put them over here, on the toilet seat," Steve directs, just in time. Oddly, the toilet seat appears to be the driest surface in the bathroom. Even the mirror over the sink has splashes of water on it.

Danny's breathless, but smiling. The dog is now clinging to Steve, eyes wide as it avoids looking directly into the tub that's partially filled with sudsy water. Steve has a feeling that three-quarters of the bathwater that Danny had started out with is currently on the bathroom floor and in the hallway and on the stairs.

"Close the door," Steve says, and Danny slams it shut; the sound reverberates through Steve's skull like a hammer taken to a bell.

Steve lowers the dog toward the tub and is met with no small amount of resistance as Stitch tries to climb him in an effort to escape. Steve curses, low enough that he hopes Danny doesn't hear, as he gets a mouthful of wet dog paw. Stitch attaches himself to Steve's head, like an octopus, which should not be possible.

"Danny, get in the tub," Steve says. The boy's already wet, and he hopes that if Danny's in the tub, the dog will go to him.

Danny strips down, hops into the tub, and Steve attempts to pry the dog from his face and place him in Danny's waiting arms.

"Hold him tight," Steve says, once his mission's accomplished and the dog is finally in the tub, still jockeying to get free. 

It feels like hours have passed since Stitch and Danny thundered into the office. The dog's tail is between its legs. Its normally perky ears are drooping. The dog is shivering almost violently and it gives Steve a look of utter betrayal, brown eyes imploring and sad. Steve feels like he's been kicked in the stomach.

Danny, however, is smiling, and talking softly, encouragingly to the dog, telling Stitch some kind of story about how he used to hate baths, too. Danny shows Stitch that there are toys to play with as Steve reaches around the pair to turn on the water, testing it against his wrist to make sure that it isn't too hot or too cold. He lets it run until Danny's covered in bubbles and water, and then turns it off.

"See, Stitch," Danny says, running his fingers through the dog's wet fur, and eliciting an almost contented sigh from the animal that is now sitting in his lap. "Daddy's good at giving baths. He never gets soap in my eyes, and he got me all of these cool toys to play with, and he sometimes even plays with me," Danny says the last bit in a whisper, lifting one of the drooped ears to do so.

"He's really good at submarine, and ship captain," Danny says. "On account of he's a seal, and he's real good at swimming."

Steve kneels on the wet tiled floor, not caring that he's getting soaked, and that there's important paperwork waiting for him in his office. Danny's smiling at him, even as he continues to talk to Stitch, calming the dog's nerves.

Steve soon discovers that bathing a dog is not unlike bathing a squirrelly little boy, except it's twice as hard. Stitch doesn't like having water poured over his head (Danny cups a hand over the dog’s eyes and snout to help out), and he doesn't like suds (they make him sneeze, and Danny giggle hysterically), and he doesn't like sitting still in a tub, or being wet.

He does, however, like bounding out of the tub and shaking water all over the place and does so several times, in spite of Danny holding onto him with all of his might. The dog _ is _ slippery, and surprisingly sneaky and wily, and Steve will be happy to never have to do this again. He will happily pay to bring the dog to a professional groomer for any future bathing that it may require.

Finally, Stitch is clean, and so is Danny. Steve's state of cleanliness is a different matter entirely. He is covered nearly head to toe in sudsy water, and he feels like he's wrestled an alligator rather than a six year old boy and an energetic puppy.

Mindful of the wet bathroom floor, Steve carries both puppy and boy into the bedroom to dry them off with the almost, but not quite -- thanks to Stitch's multitude of failed escape attempts and shaking -- dry towels that Danny had gathered for him. Danny giggles when Steve towels him dry, and Stitch shakes with delight, entire body wiggling as he's dried off, rubbing his face into the damp towel, and moaning when Steve starts working on his ears.

Danny races to his room to get dressed and is back in record time with Stitch's collar, which is dripping wet. Steve carefully places the wet collar on one of the towels that he's discarded. Stitch's fur is starting to fluff now that it's drying, and Steve tosses the final towel aside when it's apparent that Stitch has had enough of his ministrations and is more interested in playing with the towel, biting at it and shaking it side to side as though it's some kind of small prey that he's caught.

Steve arches his back, cracking it, and tilts his head from one side to the other, cracking his neck. He should be exhausted; he isn't. His headache should be at jackhammer levels by now, but it's not. In fact, it's barely there. Steve can just feel vestiges of it now.

There's a bathroom that's got to be cleaned; he's got to take a shower before getting dinner ready for him and Danny; and then there's the paperwork that Chin sent him to read over and potentially sign.

Danny's settled on his stomach in the middle of Steve's room, he's got one end of a rolled up towel in his hands; the other end is in Stitch's mouth. Stitch is on his belly, too, and the two are playing tug-of-war. Little growls are escaping past Stitch's curled up lips, and giggles are bubbling out of Danny.

It hits Steve like a punch to the gut that these are the kinds of moments his aunt has been telling him about. Moments that he shouldn't miss or take for granted. Moments that are here and gone in the blink of an eye.

Steve pulls his (thankfully waterproof) phone out of the pocket of his sweats and captures as many images as he can of Danny and Stitch's battle before it's over; Danny gives up his end of the towel and lets Stitch win.

Steve captures Danny's eyes lit up in mirth, and Stitch's body wriggling with happiness when Danny pulls him to his side and hugs him close, whispering something into the dog's ear that Steve doesn't catch. Steve captures it all on camera, and vows not to miss other moments like these.

Steve ushers both dog and boy out of the room, leaving wet towels and bathroom, as well as thoughts of a shower and healthy dinner behind, in favor of popcorn, junk food and movies watched from the close confines of a blanket fort pitched in the living room.

Danny falls asleep in the middle of the second movie, head pillowed on a sleeping Stitch's flank, one hand still buried deep in a bowl of buttery hurricane popcorn, the other tucked beneath his head. It's another moment that Steve captures on camera before cleaning up and moving Danny into a more comfortable position with an actual pillow underneath his head, and a blanket tucked around him, Stitch curled up beside him.

All traces of his headache are gone. Steve isn't sure when it completely disappeared, but suspects that it happened sometime between Danny's forfeited game of tug-of-war, and his son's (it doesn't feel strange to think that anymore, though Steve believes that it should) happy dance when Steve announced that they were going to have a movie night. Whenever it disappeared is far less important than knowing that, had Steve turned Danny down when he asked for help bathing Stitch, he’d probably still be nursing the head splitting pain. 


	13. Safe and Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny runs away from school. Steve ransacks Oahu to find him, and finds another stray to bring home in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been written for awhile, and I wasn't sure whether or not to post it. I was thinking I needed something fluffier before this. This has angst and fluff.
> 
> Please forgive any errors.

_ thief: noun _

  1. _a person who steals, especially secretly or without open force; one guilty of theft or larceny_



 

Danny frowned, deep in thought, as he re-read the dictionary definition of the word that he'd been called by Henry Martin. He wasn't a thief.

He wasn't.

He'd just taken an extra cookie when Ms. Kealoha had passed them out during snack time. He was only supposed to take one, but Rose had taken two, too, and so had Jimmy. He was extra hungry, and they were really good cookies. Chocolate chip oatmeal -- his favorite.

That didn't make him a thief. Did it?

If it did make him a thief, then Rose and Jimmy were thieves, too. Right?

Henry hadn't pushed them and called them thieves, though. He'd only done that to Danny.

Danny's stomach twisted, and he slammed the dictionary shut, shoving it away from himself a little too hard. It crashed to the floor, and Henry laughed at him, his ugly, freckled face twisting into a smirk that Danny wanted to wipe away.

Angry, Danny punched Henry in the stomach and stood over the other boy who'd fallen off of his chair. Hands clenched into fists, Danny glared at the other boy.

"I'm not a thief you, you, four-eyed liar!" Danny shouted.

He stomped his foot, and then, too angry to stop, he ran out of the classroom, ignoring Ms. Kealoha, and the other kids. Danny ran right out of the school, and down the sidewalk. He ran until he couldn't breathe and had to stop and rest his hands on his knees.

There was a stitch in his side, and his cheeks were wet with angry tears, his nose stuffed from crying. He wiped at his tears with the back of his hand and scowled at the sidewalk.

Breathing heavily, Danny stood to his full height and took a careful look around. He knew that the school was back the way that he'd come, but he had no desire to go back to school, to where he knew that he'd be in trouble for hitting Henry.

"Henry deserved it," Danny whispered darkly, hands clenched into fists once more. "He pushed me, and called me names."

Today hadn't been the first time that the new boy had pushed Danny, or called him a name. It had been happening every day for the past two weeks and Danny was fed up with it.

"I'm never going back to school," Danny said, startling when a pigeon cooed loudly in response.

"It's not fair," Danny said, dragging the toe of his sneaker across the seam of the sidewalk as he spoke to the pigeon. "I was there before Henry. If anyone should have to give up school, it should be him. He's the real thief. Not me. He stole my school, and my teacher and my friends, and he didn't even do it by sneaking."

Danny shivered as the bird pecked the sidewalk around him before cooing again and then taking off into the cloudy sky. Sighing, Danny kicked at a loose rock, and trudged along the sidewalk. The clouds were getting dark, and Danny felt a fat raindrop fall on his head. The rain fit his dark mood perfectly.

Danny knew the way home. In another block, he'd have to take a left at the stop sign, and then it was just another block and a half down that road before he was home.

He didn't want to go home, though. He'd only be in trouble. His dad would scold him, and he wouldn't get any dessert for dinner, or be allowed to play with Stitch.

Life sucked.

He'd reached the stop sign quicker than he thought he would, and stood for a few moments, biting his lip as he considered his options. The sky was dark now, but the rain was still only falling in occasional little droplets. Maybe he could live at the park, or at the beach.

Parker lived at the beach with his uncle. It didn't seem all that bad. Danny would miss Stitch and Aunt Deb, and his dad, but he didn't want his dad to be mad at him and go away again. He had to be good so that his dad would still want to be his dad. He'd already lost one dad and didn't want to lose another.

As the rain started to pick up, Danny made up his mind and took a right at the stop sign, heading toward the beach park and away from home. It was a long walk, and by the time he'd reached the beach, his clothes were soaked through and he was shivering, arms wrapped around his tee-shirt clad chest to try to trap in some warmth.

Danny took shelter underneath one of the pavilions at the empty beach park and tried to shake off the rainwater, like he'd seen Stitch do after bath time. He was still miserably wet. Maybe having fur made it easier to get rid of water.

Sniffing, Danny sat on the bench of an old, rickety picnic table and picked at the loose paint, flicking the little chips of paint onto the sandy cement beneath him. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he'd missed lunch, and that, even though he'd taken two, instead of one cookie at snack, he was still hungry.

He wished that the pigeon had followed him to the beach so that he'd have someone to talk to. The rain was coming down so hard now, that it sounded like hundreds of drummers were hitting the roof of the pavilion, and Danny couldn't even see the ocean through the thick curtain of rain.

"I hate Henry," Danny said as he aggressively removed a loose chip of paint and flung it to the ground. "This is his fault."

Something stirred in Danny's conscience, reminding him that he hadn't said anything to Ms. Kealoha about Henry pushing him, and that he'd probably hurt Henry when he punched him. Danny blinked back tears, and jutted his chin out in defiance.

'Henry shouldn't have pushed me and called me names,' Danny told the voice in his head that sounded an awful lot like his dad. 'He started it.'

Danny ignored the voice of his dad in his head that reminded him that there were non-violent ways to solve problems. Danny only fought because everyone else was bigger than him and picked on him and he needed to make sure that they knew they couldn't get away with hurting him. He'd thought that, after he and Kento had become friends, everything would be okay, that no one would ever pick on him again, that he wouldn't have to fight, but he'd been wrong.

Feeling miserable, cold and tired, Danny laid down on the picnic table's bench, and closed his eyes. The wind howled in the trees, and the rain continued to fall in torrents. The violent sounds of the beginnings of a tropical storm were a maudlin backdrop to Danny's churlish thoughts as his conscience warred with self-righteous indignation and he fell into a restless sleep, unaware of the danger that surrounded him.

* * *

 

Steve was on a call with a potential client when he got the call from Danny's school a little after eleven in the morning. Not recognizing the number (Aunt Deb had more dealings with the school than Steve had up until recently), he'd let it go to voicemail, and didn't check his voicemail until one thirty in the afternoon.

At first, Steve wasn't sure that he'd heard the principal's message correctly, that Danny had run away from school after punching another boy. Danny had gotten into a lot of fights when he'd first started going to school, but those hadn't been initiated by the little boy.

In almost all of those incidences Danny had been defending himself, and he'd even befriended one of the boys who'd initially bullied him. Steve had thought that things like this were over, especially after the talk he'd had with Danny about there being other options, like talking to the teacher, or to him, when he was being picked on. Non-violent options for Danny to turn to instead of hitting and name calling.

Apparently his talk hadn't had as much of an impact as he'd thought it had.

Not overly concerned, because surely Danny'd returned to school by now, or Steve would have received a second call, Steve took a deep breath and dialed the school, knowing that he'd have to tread very carefully. Danny hadn't gotten into a fight in months, but the zero tolerance policy at the school meant that he'd probably be suspended for a few days, and that Steve would have to come into the school for a conference with the teacher, the principal and the school's counselor. He'd have to clear his schedule to make time for it as he'd just taken on another job. A simple delivery between islands that would take a day, or two, tops.

"Hello, Principal Kuiko?" Steve said as soon as the phone was picked up. Getting confirmation that he was speaking to the principal of the school, Steve prepared to make his apologies for Danny's uncharacteristic (of late) behavior. "This is Steve McGarrett, you called about Danny --"

"I'm glad that you called us back, Mr. McGarrett," the principal said, cutting Steve off. "How is Danny?"

Steve blinked at his phone and then frowned. "I was hoping that you'd tell me," he said. "You said that he'd run off after hitting another kid?"

"He isn't home?" the principal asked, hesitant.

"He didn't return to school?" Steve asked, heart in his throat, blood running cold.

"No," the principal said, voice soft. "I'm afraid that he didn't. When we hadn't heard from you, we'd assumed that he'd returned home."

Steve's mind reeled. If Danny wasn't at school, and he hadn't returned home, that meant that his little boy had been missing for two and a half hours now. He'd been so busy with on his business call that he hadn't even noticed the storm that was currently raging outside, and worry for Danny, out in this storm, nearly stole his breath.

"Shit," Steve said. "Sorry."

"That's perfectly alright Mr. McGarrett, had we known that Danny wasn't home, safe and sound, with you, we'd have called the police immediately," the principal said, censure clear in his voice.

"I'm sure that you would have," Steve said through gritted teeth, not liking what the principal was insinuating at all, or the fact that his gut churned with guilt. "I'm going to go out and look for my son now, Principal Kuiko," Steve said, hanging up before the principal could say anything else. Piling on guilt would do nothing to help Danny.

Nearly frantic with worry, Steve tapped out a quick text, sending it to Kono, Chin and Lou, asking for their help in canvassing the neighborhood to look for Danny. Jumping into his truck, getting soaked on his way from the front door, Steve made some phone calls to the parents of Danny's closest friends, heart sinking at every negative answer.

Steve could barely see the road through the rain and flooding of the roads, but he ignored the advice of the radio DJ and weather reporters to stay off the roads. Emergency flooding was no match for his 4x4, and Danny was too precious for him to heed severe weather warnings.

"I should have gotten him a phone," Steve muttered as his truck crawled through the neighborhood at a snail's pace so that he wouldn't miss spotting Danny should the boy be on the sidewalk, or in someone's yard, though it was a long shot. He didn't want to miss Danny because he'd been in too much of a rush to find him.

It was slow going, and every second that passed by, without finding Danny felt like a lifetime. His phone had pinged responses from Kono, Chin, and Lou. His entire team was out looking for Danny, and Danny's friend's parents were keeping an eye out for the boy and would call if Danny showed up at their house. Their own children were safely at home, school having been let out early due to the storm.

The sky grew darker and the rain heavier, and the water flooding the roads continued to rise. Steve had driven the route to and from the school, and all possible routes that Danny might have taken on his way home, twice, and was considering parking the truck alongside the road and getting out and going up to every single house to see if Danny had taken refuge with a stranger.

"Danny, where the hell are you, kid?" Steve asked, pounding the steering wheel with his fists as his truck was rocked by a large gust of wind. "C'mon, buddy, where the fuck are you?"

A call from Kono a little after two thirty was both reassuring and mildly frightening. His little boy had been out in this storm (potentially, there was still a chance that Danny had found safety in a neighbor's home) for three and a half hours now.

"Boss, I've got your house covered, just in case Danny finds his way home in this," Kono said. "Chin's doing a sweep of the neighborhood adjacent to Danny's school, Lou's got the neighborhood opposite yours, just in case Danny went in that direction. Don't worry, Steve, we'll find him."

"Thank you, Kono," Steve said, voice thick. "I just..."

"He's going to be fine, Steve. You'll find him. The Hesses are dead," Kono said, voice going hard at the end.

Steve's heart clenched at the reminder of Danny's kidnapping several months ago. Danny still had a few outbursts of anger, mostly confined to home (he'd had a few tantrums in public, but until today, nothing had happened at school) and the occasional nightmare, but, like his therapist, Dr. Max, had said would happen, Danny was getting better. Steve was, too, though having his son missing from school in the middle of the day, and finding out hours later because he'd been distracted by work was not helping.

"Fuck," Steve cursed himself and clenched the steering wheel tightly. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Steve squinted at the windshield. He couldn't see a damn thing through the downpour, and his imagination was doing him no favors as he pictured Danny swept away in the storm, lying face down in a ditch, skin unnaturally blue; or taken in by some kindly neighbor who really had nefarious intentions, someone who'd been watching Danny for weeks, or months and finding the storm to be the perfect opportunity to pounce on the young, still naive in spite of everything, boy; or Danny huddling in the middle of a sidewalk, shivering in the cold rain and Steve unable to see him through it all, passing him by time and time again...the possibilities were endless, and Steve was growing frenetic with each scenario that passed through his mind.

Cursing and slamming on his brakes, Steve came to a screeching halt, almost having driven right into the ocean. Forcing himself to take several deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth, to calm his frayed nerves, and think, Steve closed his eyes and listened to the hammering rain.

He tried to picture Danny, alive, and relatively unharmed, and prayed to whatever deity would take pity on a career criminal like himself, that he would find Danny before something terrible happened to the little boy (again).

"I know I'm not a good man, and that I don't deserve pity, or redemption, or kindness, but Danny, he's just a little kid, and...I've got to find him, please," Steve said, voice unheard above the storm that raged outside of his truck. He'd never prayed for anything in his life, and, if he lost Danny to this storm, he'd never pray again.

"I'm selfish. A murderer. A god-damning bastard who doesn't give a fuck about anyone or anything, other than Danny, and if you, whoever the fuck you are, see fit to punish a little boy who's already been through hell and back, partially by my hand, even more, than you're no better than me," Steve said, practically growling the words and slamming his fists into the steering wheel, which nearly cracked under the onslaught of his self-directed anger.

As much as Steve wanted to blame some all-knowing, all-seeing, ever-present deity for what had happened, for Danny being lost out in the storm, he knew that there was no one to blame but himself. He'd started the ball rolling, and it just didn't seem to want to stop now that it had started. How much was Danny going to have to suffer for Steve's poor life choices?

"He's just a little boy," Steve whispered to gods he didn't believe in, to himself.

Resting his forehead against the steering wheel, a storm raging in his heart, Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was not a man who gave up, who gave into his emotions. This was not him. He did not sit idle in a storm, praying for miracles. He was the storm.

Clenching the wheel tightly, Steve forced his whirling emotions where they belonged, firmly tucked away in the back of his mind. He'd deal with them later. Right now, Danny needed him. Steve wasn't going to sit in his truck and wallow in self pity. Yes, he'd fucked up, but the past was the past, and it was time to move on.

Though it was hard to see through the rain, Steve knew where he was, the local beach park. It wasn't too far from his home, and it was a place that Danny was familiar with. If luck, or some generous god, was on their side, then Danny could possibly be here, waiting out the storm.

Steve tried to recall what Danny had been wearing when he went off to school that morning, but came up with a blank. Clearing his mind, Steve tried to remember the morning.

Danny'd eaten only half of his breakfast, leaving most of the banana untouched, and complaining that his stomach was too full after only taking a few bites of his oatmeal. Steve's heart skipped a beat and he cursed, realizing that Danny's atypical complaining during breakfast and while getting ready for school was probably a sign that he hadn't been feeling well.

Steve pushed past his feelings of self-recrimination, and focused on what had happened next. Danny'd gone to wash up, shouting at Steve when he was done, and then he'd said something about wearing his...Iron Man tee-shirt to school?

Something that bright shouldn't be hard to remember, yet, as he wracked his mind for a picture of what Danny had worn to school that morning, it came up blank. "Shit."

A gust of wind rocked the truck, and Steve thought he heard a sharp cry, carried away by the wind. He dismissed it as a gull caught up in the wind, but couldn't shake the eerie feeling that the cry had left him with.

Getting out of the truck, Steve ignored the rain that soaked through his clothes, and focused on the task at hand. Danny was out there, somewhere, and he was going to find him, come hell, or more likely with the tropical storm, high water.

"Danny!" Steve called, voice getting swept away in the storm. It was a crap shoot, and probably a waste of time, but Steve walked toward the pavilions, hoping beyond hope that he'd find Danny, alive and well, sitting underneath one of their sheltering awnings.

Three pavilions later, Steve was soaked to the skin and shivering, and he'd found nothing but a couple of empty beer cans, half a discarded cake, the remnants of a melted ice cream cone, and a small, frightened kitten that he'd somehow managed to scoop into his arms and tuck into his wet shirt. The kitten mewled pathetically, and Steve absentmindedly scratched between its ears.

There were two pavilions left, and Steve feared that they'd both disappoint him. He was almost afraid to move on, but the kitten nudged his finger when he'd stopped petting it, and then nipped him, and Steve started forward, into the storm, rushing to the next pavilion.

Steve's heart stopped beating for several seconds. It was the kitten's incessant mewling which shocked it back to rhythm, and Steve walked forward on feet numb, not with cold, but with disbelief as he spied a shock of blonde curly hair nestled within red, white and blue material. Danny had settled for wearing his Captain America tee-shirt when he couldn't find his Iron Man tee-shirt. Steve remembered.

"Danny," Steve called, voice breaking as he knelt beside the boy who was, even in the midst of the howling winds of a tropical storm, soaked to the bone and shivering, fast asleep.

His cheeks were flush, and Steve could feel heat radiating off of Danny's body. He had been sick this morning, and Steve hadn't been paying attention. There'd be time enough for self-chastisement once he got Danny home and dry and warm, safely tucked into bed.

Steve lifted Danny from the bench, ignoring the disgruntled kitten. He pressed a kiss to Danny's temple, and almost cried in relief when Danny's eyelids fluttered and the little boy opened his eyes.

At first, Danny said nothing, just stared at Steve in confusion, and then his face crumpled and he buried his face against Steve's chest and cried.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I hit Henry, but he pushed me first, an' he called me a thief because I took two cookies, but so did Rose an' Jimmy, an' my head hurts, an' I'm sorry I ran away from school, dad," Danny said, words tumbling out of his mouth at a speed that was difficult for Steve to follow.

"It's okay, Danny," Steve said. "None of that matters right now. What matters is that I've got you, and you're safe."

"I wanna go home," Danny said. "I don't wanna live on the beach. I thought I did. I didn't want you to be mad at me because I punched Henry, and I didn't want you to go away again, but I don't want to live on the beach," Danny said.

There was a lull of sound, and then a sad, petulant meow, and Danny lifted his head from where he'd buried it against Steve's chest, and, eyes wide, asked, "Is that a kitten?"

Momentarily stunned, and feeling a little faint with relief, reeling from Danny's confessions, and what the little boy had been planning, and his reasons why, Steve could only nod and choke out a, "Yeah."

Danny smiled, and plucked the kitten from Steve's shirt and cuddled it to his chest. "I wanna go home, and so does Stormy," Danny said, already tucking himself against Steve's chest, and closing his eyes.

Blinking and trying, in vain, to subdue his wayward emotions, Steve nodded and carried Danny to the waiting truck. He reluctantly buckled Danny into his car seat, turning the heat on high, and then texted his team to let them know that he'd found Danny and where. The calls to the parents of Danny's friends could wait, as could the talk that he needed to have with Danny about using words instead of fists to resolve his problems.

"Sorry that I ran away from school," Danny said, petting the kitten that had curled up on his lap and was now rumbling out a purr. "I was afraid."

"Danny, you don't ever have to be afraid of me," Steve said, mentally wincing as he remembered a time when he'd relished in Danny's fear of him. A time that was well in the past now. A time that Danny barely remembered, and never attributed to Steve, because Steve had never let the little boy see his face, or hear his true voice.

"I didn't want you to be mad at me. I was trying so hard, dad," Danny said, voice catching.

"I know you were," Steve said. "Sometimes we make bad choices, and when that happens, we can't run away from the consequences. Danny, I care more about you than about the mistakes that you'll make. No matter what happens, or what you do, I will always be here for you."

"Promise?" Danny asked, his eyes darting to Steve's in the rear view mirror.

Steve caught Danny's gaze and held it, nodding. "Promise," he said. "You don't have to run away from me, Danny. You don't have to hide when you do something you think I won't be happy about. No matter what you do, I'll always," Steve cleared his throat, which had suddenly grown tight, and swallowed. "I'll always love you, kiddo."

"Always?" Danny's brow scrunched up, and he looked back down to the kitten in his lap as it headbutted his hand, looking for more ear scratches.

"Always," Steve said, letting out the breath that he'd been holding when Danny smiled.

"And I'll always love you," Danny said. "Think Stormy will get along with Stitch?"

Shaking his head at the change of direction in conversation, which he should have grown used to by now, Steve mentally cursed himself for picking up the lost kitten. "We'll have to be careful when we introduce the two, and I'll have to make a stop at a pet store, but I can do that after I get you home and into dry clothes. Aunt Kono, Uncle Chin, and Uncle Lou are waiting for us."

"Really?" Danny's face lit up before it clouded. "They were looking for me, weren't they?"

"Yes, they were all worried about you," Steve said.

"I'm sorry," Danny whispered.

"You'll have to tell them that," Steve said. He sighed and then added, "I'm sure they'll be more relieved that I've found you than mad at you for running away."

Danny nodded, but looked like he'd just eaten a mouthful of worms. "Uncle Chin is going to talk to me in his sad voice, and Aunt Kono is going to give me her unhappy, disappointed eyes, and Uncle Lou is going to use his I'm disappointed in you head shake," Danny said, chin wavering.

Steve had to purse his lips together to keep from laughing. "It's only because they care."

Danny sighed, heavy-hearted, and nodded as he held the kitten aloft and said, very seriously. "They're going to kill me," he said dramatically.

"They love you, Danny," Steve said, catching the boy's gaze in the rear view mirror and giving him a reassuring smile.

"I know, they're going to smother me with their caring and love," Danny said, and then he sneezed and the kitten hissed and batted at his nose. "I deserve it. I shouldn't have punched Henry, even if he did deserve it, and I probably shouldn't have taken two cookies, even if I wasn't the only one who did."

"And?" Steve prompted.

"And I shouldn't have run away," Danny said, voice soft. "I've got to face my problems and...and..."

"And I'll always be here for you, no matter who you punch, er, rather no matter what you do," Steve said, blushing when Danny giggled.

"I'm sorry," Danny apologized again.

"I know you are," Steve said. "I forgive you, kiddo, but please never do that again. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."

"Okay," Danny said. "I promise I won't ever run away again."

Steve's breath came a little easier with Danny's heartfelt promise. As he pulled into the driveway, he mentally prepared himself to deal with a houseful of concerned uncles and an aunt who could kick his ass without breaking a sweat. As much as they'd ensure that Danny knew just how much he meant to each of him, and garner promises of their own from the little boy, he knew that they'd ultimately, and rightfully, place the blame on him, and that he'd have to make promises of his own to set their minds at ease.

All of that paled in comparison, though, to the knowledge that he'd found Danny, and that the little boy -- his little boy -- was home, safe and sound, where he belonged.


	14. Oh, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny wakes Steve up at five in the morning to ask him a very serious question, and Steve wonders if he's being punked, or if he's caught up in some kind of bizarre dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Irene Claire as a surprise birthday present. Hau 'oli la Hanau (Happy Birthday). I hope that you enjoy this. It's mostly fluff, with a little bit of angst/hurt/comfort.

"Daddy?" Danny's voice was whisper soft, and yet Steve heard it.

Groaning internally, Steve had only a moment's notice before the bed dipped, and then shook as, not only Danny, but his entourage of pets that accompanied him almost everywhere he went, clambered onto Steve's bed.

An elbow smashed him in the gut, forcing an, "Oof," out of him. A knee to the groin stole Steve's breath, and when he opened his mouth, he breathed in a mouthful of cat fur.

After circling the foot of the bed to find the 'perfect spot', Stitch finally settled, a heavy weight on Steve's feet, and Danny's foot caught Steve in the nose before the boy finally made it to his desired destination on the other side of Steve's bed.

"Danny?" Steve said as he pushed Stormy off of his face, causing the kitten to hiss at him before resettling on his chest with a rumbling purr.

As far as rude awakenings went, this one was currently at the top. Steve blinked the sleep out of his eyes and lifted his hand to look at his watch. Five a.m. He'd had maybe three hours of sleep.

"You know, uncle Chin and Auntie Malia's baby, Mahealani?" Danny said as he settled himself cross legged beside Steve.

Steve racked his sleep befuddled brain for the possible significance of Danny's question and frowned as he drew a blank. He nodded, because, yes, he did know the two month old. She was the joy of Chin's life.

"It's five in the morning," Steve said dumbly, still trying to wake himself up enough to follow Danny's train of thought. He hoped Danny hadn't had a nightmare. It didn't look like he had, but Danny didn't like to talk about his nightmares, and often pretended that nothing was wrong. It was normal, according to the doctor.

"I was thinking," Danny said in a voice far too serious for a boy of Danny's age at five in the morning.

"About what?" Steve asked around a yawn.

He plucked Stormy off of his chest, and plonked the kitten down in Danny's lap.

"I want a baby," Danny said matter of fact, big blue eyes boring into Steve's with an intensity that was rather alarming, and disconcerting.

"A baby?" Steve asked, suddenly wide awake, making sure that he'd heard Danny correctly. He had the feeling that someone, somewhere was playing a practical joke on him, or that maybe he was having a bizarre dream, and, at any moment, he'd wake up alone in his bed.

Danny nodded, and petted Stormy, drawing loud buzzing purrs from the kitten. "I want a little girl, like Uncle Chin and Auntie Malia have. Did you know Joey has a baby? And Christine? An-"

"Who?" Steve asked, interrupting Danny's litany of strangers who had babies. Steve didn't have a clue what any of this had to do with anything, and why Danny had to tell him about this at five in the morning.

Sitting up earned Steve a groan and a lift of an eyelid from Stitch who glared at him, and then sighed heavily before settling down back to sleep, muzzle resting on his paws. Danny moved closer, leaning against Steve's side, and tilted his head so that he could look into Steve's face.

"My friends at school. They all have babies," Danny said as though Steve should already have known that. Maybe he should have. "I want a baby, too."

"Danny." Steve ran a hand through his hair, and stared for a few long seconds at the little boy who'd plastered himself to his side as he tried to figure out what to say. Danny's hair was a mess of unkempt curls, his Iron Man pajamas were sleep-wrinkled, but his eyes were bright and the look in them was earnest.

"I'm sorry, but I can't just give you a baby," Steve said, frowning as his conscience prickled at the thought that there were ways that he could actually procure a baby for Danny if he really wanted to. His gut twisted guiltily as he avoided thinking about how he'd become Danny's 'daddy' in the first place.

"Besides, you're too young to have a baby. Babies are for adults, like Uncle Chin and Auntie Malia," Steve said, proud of himself for having come up with something that was fairly coherent.

Danny rolled his eyes and gave him an exasperated look. "I _know_ that, Daddy," he said, voice incredulous, hands waving to illustrate what he was saying as he spoke. "Only grownups can make babies. _You're_ a grownup. _You_ can make babies, like Uncle Chin and Auntie Malia made baby Mahealani. She's pretty, and I like to hold her sometimes, even if she _is_ small and cries a lot, and makes funny baby faces, and smelly doo-doo diapers."

Blinking at all of the 'facts' that Danny was laying out for him, and trying, in vain, to think of something to say that would dissuade Danny from his quest to have Steve 'give him a baby', Steve opened his mouth and closed it. He had nothing, and his mind felt like he'd been put through some kind of mental ping pong match.

Wrapping an arm around Danny's shoulders, Steve pulled him closer to his side. "Why do you want a baby?" he asked, hoping that Danny's answer would help him get to the bottom of whatever it was that Danny really wanted. He couldn't really want a baby, could he?

"Kento wants one, too," Danny said. "You can put a baby inside of Kento's mom, just like Uncle Chin put a baby inside of Auntie Malia, and she can..." Danny's face scrunched up in thought as he searched for the appropriate word, "bake the baby for you," Danny said, smiling clearly proud of himself.

"And then Kento and me can share the baby," Danny said, voice triumphant.

"Let me get this straight," Steve said, still confused. "You want me to give you a baby because Kento wants a baby?"

Danny shook his head. He gave Steve a wounded look. "No, Daddy, I want you to make a baby with Kento's mom, so that Kento and me can have a baby sister."

"Do you want me to marry Kento's mom?" Steve asked. He felt like he was swimming against the tide.

Danny heaved an unhappy sigh, and shook his head. He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, and looked at Steve through his eyelashes. Disappointment in Steve's ability to comprehend something that he evidently thought was perfectly simple was apparent in the sag of his shoulders.

"No," Danny said, eyes turned downward, fingers idly running through Stormy's fur. "I want a baby sister, _not_ a new mom."

Steve drew in a sharp breath, and settled back against the headboard. Danny fell against his side, upsetting the cat as he rested his head on Steve's chest. Stormy renegotiated his position on the bed beside Steve and Danny, arched his back and curled up into a ball, tail tucked underneath his chin.

"Why do you want a baby sister?" Steve asked, rubbing Danny's back.

Danny shrugged. "Just do," he said.

"You know that you can visit Mahealani anytime you want to, right?" Steve asked.

Danny nodded. "I know," he said, a sleepy edge to his voice. "'S not the same."

"What's not the same?" Steve asked, voice gentle as he massages Danny's scalp.

"Being a cousin's not the same as being a big brother," Danny said, voice far more subdued than it had been earlier.

"I'm sure that Uncle Chin and Aunt Malia would be proud to have you be Mahealani's big brother," Steve said.

"Really?" Danny asked, voice hopeful.

Smiling down at the blonde head of messy curls, Steve pressed a kiss to them. "I'm sure of it. How about if we ask them about it later today, after we've slept a little longer and had breakfast?"

Danny nodded, and Steve could feel his body relaxing as he started to fall back to sleep. "Do you think they can make another baby?" he asked, yawning.

"Maybe someday," Steve said, wondering why Danny was so determined to have another baby in his life. "But right now Mahealani takes up a lot of their time, and they want to shower as much love on her as they can."

"I can shower love on her, too," Danny said, words coming out softer as he started waning. "Like I was gonna shower love on the baby my mommy was baking in her tummy."

Steve's heart jumped to his throat and he swallowed against the sudden lump, throat dry. "You'll be an awesome big brother," he said, combing his fingers through Danny's hair.

"When Uncle Chin and Aunt Malia have a new baby, can we call her, Irene?" he asked, voice muffled by Steve's shirt.

"Irene?" Steve asked. He'd never heard Danny mention that name before.

Nodding, Danny smacked his lips and gripped Steve's sleep shirt with the hand that wasn't resting on Stormy. "She was my pre-school teacher," Danny said. "She gave me cookies and milk, and sang and read stories to me. She was nice."

Chuckling quietly, Steve said, "That's a long way off, Danny."

"But can we?" Danny asked, determined to get an answer and fighting sleep until he got one.

"You'll have to ask your Aunt and Uncle," Steve said.

Sighing, Danny finally let go and allowed sleep to pull him under, breath evening out into a quiet, gentle snore. Stifling a yawn, Steve made himself as comfortable as he could with a boy draped half across him, a cat curled up at his side, and a dog that had migrated to once again lie on his feet, and allowed sleep to claim him as well. He dreamed of dark haired little girls who ran around his lanai, called Danny, brother, and shouted and laughed in play as they splashed in the ocean.

 


	15. A Parent's Halloween Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween's coming up and Steve wonders what he's gotten himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is almost pure, domestic fluff. 
> 
> Hopefully it's not a disappointment. 
> 
> Happy Halloween!

"Daddy, can I be a policeman for Halloween?" Danny asks, head tilted to the side.

"A policeman?" Steve asks, surprised, though after his aunt's explanation of the incident at the zoo, he knows he shouldn't be all that surprised by the request. Even after being kidnapped by the Hesses, Danny's obsession with police shows has not waned; if anything, he seems almost more obsessed with police dramas, and police in general.

Nodding, Danny reaches around Steve, who's in the process of making dinner, to pluck an apple off of the counter and takes a bite out of it. "Yeah, like Officer Lukela," Danny says around the chunk of apple in his mouth.

"Officer Lukela?" Steve has no idea how Danny knows the officer, and is more than a little alarmed. Do the police know something they shouldn't? Does he have to enact Plan B?

"He was at our school today," Danny says as he takes another bite of the apple. "He was cool. He had a shiny badge that said, HPD, and a uniform, and he couldn't bring his gun, but he had handcuffs, and even let us try them on and everything."

"Most police officers do have a badge and handcuffs," Steve said, only mildly relieved at how Danny's met the officer. It's innocent enough.

Danny's obvious hero worship of the officer is a little less of a relief, but Steve remembers that he'd been in awe of football and baseball players when he was Danny's age. As a matter of fact, he dressed up as a quarterback for two Halloweens in a row, if memory serves.

"Chew your food," Steve says, grimacing when Danny almost chokes on a chunk of apple that he practically inhales in his haste.

Danny takes another bite and almost methodically chews it, inadvertently exaggerating the act. Steve has to fight off laughter at the look of concentration on Danny's face as he carefully chews on the bite of apple before swallowing.

"That's better," Steve says, placing the chicken and vegetable bake in the oven and wiping his hands on a towel before sitting down at the kitchen table.

"So?" Danny asks, body practically vibrating, shifting from foot to foot, half eaten apple almost forgotten in his hand. It's clear that he wants to be playing outside, or up in his room before dinner, but is waiting to hear Steve's verdict about his Halloween costume.

"Are you sure you don't want to dress up as Iron Man or Captain America?" Steve asks as a last ditch effort to convince Danny to dress up as something more traditional. Danny's got almost a full platoon of superhero action figures in his bedroom, and Steve knows that he still plays with them.

Danny rolls his eyes. "That's for babies, dad. I'm not a baby."

He isn't sure he wants to encourage Danny's obsession with police officers and the law, but he isn't sure how to go about convincing Danny that they aren't nearly as cool as he thinks they are. It doesn't help that Danny's school had an officer visit the school, no doubt telling them about stranger danger and to be careful while trick-or-treating.

"Fine," Steve says.

"Thank you!" Danny says, launching himself at Steve and tackling him in a quick hug. "Kento's gonna be a fireman, an' Meka's gonna be a doctor. If you want, you can be a police officer, too, or...or...or you could be a criminal, an' I could arrest you." There's excitement in Danny's voice, and his eyes are sparkling.

Blanching a little at the image this paints in his mind of what could happen years from now if Danny pursues his current childhood dream of being a police officer, and finds out about the role Steve played in what happened to his family, Steve shakes his head.

"Tell you what," he says, placing a hand on Danny's shoulder. "How about if I take you and your friends trick-or-treating?" After what happened with the Hesses, no way is Steve going to let Danny go trick-or-treating on his own, or under the supervision of other parents.

"But don't you want to dress up?" Danny asks, nose scrunching up as he tries to understand why someone wouldn't want to dress up for Halloween.

"No," Steve says. "I'm fine just being your dad."

Danny frowns as he thinks over what Steve has said, and he takes a bite out of his apple, chewing it carefully, and swallowing it rather dramatically.

"Okay." Danny shrugs. "Can you bring us to the school carnival, too?" Danny asks. "It starts at five, on Friday, not Halloween, 'cause Halloween's on a Tuesday night, which sucks. There's gonna be rides and games and lots and lots of food."

This is the first that he's heard of the school carnival, and Steve has a sneaking suspicion that there's a flyer for it stuffed somewhere in Danny's backpack, along with the report card envelope and parent-teacher conference notice that Steve had gotten an email about a week ago. He's almost afraid of venturing into Danny's backpack. Just the thought of attempting to tackle the mess that is Danny's backpack is enough to give him nightmares.

"Sure," Steve says, hoping that he's not getting himself into something that he'll regret, and that it won't bring back bad memories for Danny. He's a little surprised that Danny even wants to go to the carnival. Still, it should be safer than the Fiftieth State Fair. Steve knows the school grounds well. The campus isn't far from where he lives.

"And can they sleep over afterwards?" Danny asks, biting his bottom lip, and kicking at the kitchen tile, eyes not meeting Steve's. He's got one hand behind his back, and Steve just knows that Danny's got his fingers crossed. No doubt he's already asked his friends and is counting on Steve saying, yes.

Dragging a hand through his hair, fleeting images of terrifying possibilities - boys staying up late into the night running around hyped up on candy and shrieking in play - run through his mind. Mouth dry, Steve shoves the endless possibilities for mayhem to the back of his mind and says, "Sure, if it's okay with their parents."

He secretly hopes that they'll say, no, but doubts that they will. Steve's quickly learned that parents don't often turn down a night of free babysitting.

Danny gives Steve a blinding smile, and throws his arms around Steve's neck. "Thank you!" he says, and then he skips out of the room, leaving Steve feeling slightly dizzy in his wake.

"Do your homework!" Steve calls out to Danny as the boy pounds his way up the stairs. "Dinner's in an hour."

"'Kay," Danny shouts down the stairs, and the door to his bedroom slams shut before Steve realizes that Danny's backpack is lying at the entrance of the kitchen.

Laying his head down on the table, Steve takes a deep breath, and counts to ten. It'll be like trying to pull teeth getting Danny to do his work after dinner.

"Oh, I need twenty-three pumpkin sugar cookies for school on Halloween!" Danny calls down the stairs a few seconds later. "We gotta put orange frosting and sprinkles on 'em." The door slams on the last word, and Steve wonders what his life has come to when, instead of cleaning and detailing his weapon, he's got to worry about baking cookies for a school Halloween party, and sleepovers.

 


	16. Death and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As he conducts a funeral for one of Danny’s ‘friends’, Steve contemplates his own childhood and wonders how his life would have changed had his father behaved differently toward him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a ten minute writing sprint during a virtual write-in for Camp NaNoWriMo. The prompt involved getting a character through an obstacle and for some reason, this popped into my head, though when I woke up this morning I had an entirely different story in mind to write. 
> 
> There is angst and fluff in this. Please forgive errors, I am writing fanfiction for CampNaNoWriMo.

How the hell is he supposed to make this right? Danny's tears are soaking through the front of his shirt and Steve's heart is breaking for the little boy trembling in his arms, and he has no idea what to say or do to make any of this better for Danny.

"I'm sorry, Danny." Steve hates the words as soon as they leave his mouth.

Sorry won't fix anything. Sorry won’t bring Danny's latest adoptee — an injured bird that Steve _had known_ wasn’t going to make it, but had been helpless to deny Danny the opportunity to try to ‘fix her’ (he should have put his foot down)— back to life.

"She was my best friend." Danny's words are punctuated by hiccoughing sobs, and Steve's heart clenches painfully in his chest, not for the dead bird, but for Danny’s pain. Did all children get so easily attached to animals, or was this a result of Danny losing his family so young? Was this his fault?

"I know, buddy." Steve runs his fingers through Danny's hair and rubs the little boy's heaving back.

Steve’s father's words from his own childhood beat down through time at him, and threaten to spill out. He presses his lips together to hold them back. His father had not been a sensitive man, had not allowed Steve to cry about anything after he'd reached a certain age — an age that Danny is well past.

Lately, it seems like his childhood memories are at the surface, and Steve isn’t sure how to deal with them, or what place they should have in his life. His own father would no doubt have told Danny to quit his whining, and denied the little boy's claim that the bird had been his best friend.

Steve can almost hear his father’s voice echoing words through time and space, though it has been years since he’s spoken to his father: _Dry your face off, son. Birds are animals, they’re not friends. Get over it, now, or I will give you something worth crying about._

Danny’s already had too much to cry about.

"I miss her," Danny says, jarring Steve from a vision of his father’s face, twisted in anger.

Danny pulls back from the front of Steve's chest to rub at his eyes. Tears cling to Danny's eyelashes and Steve wants to brush them away, promise Danny that he won't have to face death again, but he knows that he can't do that. It would be a lie, and he knows that Danny would not appreciate a lie, even if it is a lie meant to soothe and comfort. Sometimes, as Steve had learned growing up, those lies are the worst kind of all.

"I know you do," Steve says. “She was special.”

The tightness in Steve’s chest loosens a little when Danny gives him a watery smile and presses against him once again, seeking comfort in Steve’s warmth. Steve is not harsh, like his own father had been to him and Mary. He hopes never to become that callous and immovable, even in times like this, when Danny’s crying over something as small as the death of a bird that had been injured beyond help.

"Can we…” Danny's voice breaks and he pulls back to look into Steve’s face, teeth digging into his bottom lip. "Can we have a funeral for her?"

Danny’s searching Steve’s eyes for something, brow furrowing in worry or anticipation, and Steve wonders how his father could have looked at him when he was a kid, a trail of tears marring his cheeks, red from crying, eyes shining in earnest hope, rather than denial, and told him to ‘buck up, champ,’ rather than hugging him and giving him what he wanted — a simple request in the grand scheme of things.

His father hadn’t even been a criminal. He’d been a decent, law-abiding man, and yet, he’d hardened his heart toward his children. Steve’s not sure what to make of that, or what to make of the fact that he can’t do the same thing to Danny.

Nodding, Steve swipes at a tear still clinging to one of Danny’s eyelashes, and presses a kiss to the top of Danny’s head. “Sure, we can have a funeral for her.”

“Can we bury her in the backyard? She liked the trees there,” Danny says, and Steve wonders at the size and scope of Danny’s heart and imagination, that he’s able to attach emotions and details to a creature that he only knew for a few short hours.

Steve wonders, if his own father had been different, if he’d have been able to do the same as Danny, even now, if, maybe he would have walked a different path in life, and become, perhaps a police officer, or continued in his service to the Navy, rather than becoming a mercenary. He doesn’t know if he’d be willing trade this moment with Danny — arms wrapped around him in the greatest act of trust, cheek resting against Steve’s chest — for that other life, the one that he can almost picture.

“How about we bury…” Steve searches his mind for the name that Danny had given the little Hawaiʻi ʻelepaio shortly after he’d brought her home, cradled in hands that he’d shoved in Steve’s face, pleading to keep her so he could ‘make her better’.

“Katie?”

Danny nods and sniffs, looks up at Steve with eyes that are so big, so trusting, and still full of innocence, despite everything that’s happened to him, and Steve’s heart soars a little at having gotten the bird’s name correct, at having proven himself a little in Danny’s eyes.

Steve’s father would not have known something so trivial, would have taken the bird from Steve’s hands and broken its neck, then tossed it outside and lectured him about the dangers of picking up injured animals, and potential diseases that they could carry.

“How about if we bury Katie underneath her favorite tree?” Steve suggests, and is rewarded with the ghost of a smile as Danny nods.

“You’ll have to point it out to me,” Steve says. “I didn’t know her as well as you did.”

“That’s okay, she thought you were very nice,” Danny says, and for some reason, Steve’s heart feels like it’s doing a little somersault at the thought that Danny’s dead bird had, at least in Danny’s mind, deemed him ‘very nice’.

Steve almost feels sorry for his father when, a half an hour later, he takes Danny’s hand and leads him into the backyard, a small tin coffin filled with some of Katie’s favorites (as declared by a sober-minded Danny) — a handful of the birdseed that Steve had bought at Danny’s request when he’d first brought the bird home; a pile of sticks that Danny had gathered prior to her death, to make her feel safe; and the scraps of an old shirt of Danny’s that he’d used to keep her comfortable in — held in Danny’s other hand. Danny’s changed into some of his best clothes, and Steve is wearing his uniform, ignoring the bitter pull of memories that donning it brings.

Words are said, Danny utters a little prayer for Katie to meet his parents, tears are shed, and Katie is laid to rest beneath the largest palm tree in Steve’s backyard. There’s a handmade placard that bears her name and the date and Steve helps Danny nail it to the base of the tree, above where the bird’s body has been interred. It’s the tree that stands directly outside Danny’s bedroom window, and Steve hopes that, even though he knows it isn’t possible, Katie will help him look out for Danny.

“Can we have pancakes?” Danny asks as they leave the burial ground. He places his hand in Steve’s, and Steve feels that hand squeeze around his heart. It isn’t constricting, though. It is liberating. _How could his father have thrown something like this away?_

“Pancakes?” Steve asks.

Danny nods and tilts his head to the side, giving Steve a serious look. There’s a gleam to his eyes, though that Steve recognizes, one that promises just a little bit of mischief. He hides a smile, and leads the way to the kitchen, where Danny finally releases his hand and scrambles up onto the kitchen counter, kicking his feet.

“It’s what Katie would have wanted,” Danny says in a somber voice, eyes glittering.

“I see,” Steve says. “Well, we cannot deny Katie’s wishes, can we?”

Danny shakes his head. “Um…they need chocolate chips and jellybeans.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “Chocolate chips and jellybeans?”

Nodding, Danny kicks his feet against the kitchen cupboards. “And sprinkles on top.”

“Are you sure Katie wouldn’t have wanted birdseed pancakes instead?” Steve leans against the counter beside Danny.

Danny shakes his head and grimaces, nose wrinkling at his distaste. “Um, no.”

Chuckling, Steve helps Danny to the floor, shooing him out of the kitchen. “Go get changed so you don’t get your good clothes dirty when we make Katie’s pancakes.”

“You gonna change, too?” Danny asks, lingering at the foot of the stairs, hand on the railing. “‘Cause your clothes are fancier than mine, an’ you don’t wanna get ‘em dirty, do you?”

“After you,” Steve says, gesturing to the stairs and following after Danny, who races up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.

He shakes his head as he follows at a much more sedate pace. He wonders if all kids do these one-eighty change in emotions, or if it’s a Danny thing. Either way, Steve wouldn’t change any of this — wouldn’t change Danny — for anything in the world, even for a happier childhood for himself and Mary.


End file.
